The Sentinel of Shadows
by BonJiro
Summary: When opportunity strikes, the window is swift and fleeting. Ganondorf, taking an old trick from his foes and disguising himself as a Shiekah, takes a chance and finds himself guarding the Hyrulian Royal Family's most precious treasure; Princess Zelda.
1. Prologue

The bustling castle town was alive and joyous with the energy and cheer of festivities; usually busy citizens mingled and celebrated within the square, drinking, dancing, and partaking of many games and foods from the stalls set about. Flags, streamers and paper poppers, sprinkling the cobblestone and buzzing air with confetti, decorated the scene. Beautiful women and skinny bards stood upon the edges of the large fountain, singing and playing a variety of light hearted instruments that only added to the liveliness, as children and adults alike gathered around. Beneath the clear blue sky, the voices and music lilted high and loud, encompassing the grand castle and its town in an impenetrable gaiety that could be heard for miles.

Within the colourful crowd, aside and leaning against a wall just within the reaches of an alleyway's shadow, a tall, dark man stood watching the display with a bemused scowl. Golden eyes flitted from one passing person, gorging themselves on mead, to a fool dancing with exuberance to the twang of a lute. The corner of his mouth twitched with some disgust as a large set, busty Hylian woman somehow managed to twirl across his vision, jiggling and spilling her drink carelessly. His large, muscular arms, crossed upon his broad chest, tightened in a barrier like fashion, two fingers taking to rapping impatiently upon a bicep.

_Drunken idiots_, he thought coldly, annoyed and almost offended by the entire festival.

Only the Hylian people could possibly create such a flimsy and shallow excuse to avoid work, feasting and drinking publicly in such an irritatingly loud manner; an annual Pig racing festival. His gaze turned towards the poorly erected pen, over by the western district, where the street had been cleared for the race. Twenty of the beasts at least, would be let loose with snorts and squeals, to run towards the western gate. It made his gut twist with anger at how utterly ridiculous it was. Years ago, within the desert, even one of those pigs, slaughtered and eaten, would have saved many lives… And yet here, overfed and pampered Hylians chose instead to race them for kicks. As the last of the pureblooded Gerudo, and indeed, likely the only one in Hyrule able to even bare the name Gerudo anymore, Ganondorf's internal dislike of the affair—and the sneering glare that came with it—were thankfully hidden behind the hood of a cloak. With only the fierce red of his beard and a few long tresses falling out to tumble over his chest as a visible hint to his heritage, his face remained covered by shadow, cast by the lip of the hood.

How he loathed his obscurity, though patiently, was also thankful for it. He had spent some time becoming accustomed to the new era and its ways, since his return only two months before. Like a diver emerging from the deep of the sea, he had broken through the surface, the seal holding him within that accursed realm weakening and then giving way after years of concentrated, maddening effort. Seeping through like poison, his spirit had once again slipped into this world, slowly, painfully restoring his energy and form, inch by inch, until finally, he stood within the world of light once more.

Once the crossing had been made, however, he was left weak; this was expected to a degree, but the cold and empty feeling of absence chilled his soul the first time he had opened his eyes, blinking against the harsh sun. Not even those brutal rays searing his home could warm him from it; Not the flicker of his heartbeat could stir it, nor the vastly diminished well of magic flowing in his veins. His mind and body called for it, and though it lay within reach, safely tucked away within the essence of his soul, it did not respond. The holy mark upon his hand did not shine, reduced to little more than an odd patch of lighter pigment.

Power was dormant, and remained that way within Hyrule.

Since that day, he had been biding his time, using the forced reprieve from his usual, methodical behaviours to observe the changes that had taken place since his last conquest, as well as search for any reason that his Triforce was unresponsive to his call. It hadn't taken long before he discovered that his research was stilted so long as he had no access to the Royal libraries, and given that, firstly, there were no Gerudo remaining to draw political power from, and secondly, a male Gerudo within the castle at any time had now become an alarming sight, he had found himself unable to move forward in rectifying his plight.

This was, despite the unfortunate effect of the festival upon his mood, the reason he was in castle town; due to the jovial nature of the day, most were in a lax mood, and many of the castle guards had turned out in show, parading on horses and holding sporting duels about town to entertain the people. If ever he was to get into the libraries with enough time to get information without being exposed and revealing his presence in Hyrule once more, today would be the best option. Slipping away during that ridiculous race, while the peons watched with drunken grins and cheered loudly, over excited, he would make his way into the castle to find what he needed. He had already decided that a disguise would be needed, in the event he was found; better they think him Hylian than know him as Gerudo, though his magic couldn't forge the whole figure, and so this was a last resort.

Never moving from his position as the crowd surged toward the pens, a sudden burst of sound and cheers signaled that the races were soon to start, and he took his cue. Holding his breath for only a moment, Ganondorf's crimson hair lost its colour, melting away to be replaced by a striking silver hue. His skin lightened considerably, the pigment shifting to a tawny beige, and his ears grew longer, into slight points. This was the extent of the change, his stature and facial features remaining as they were; in that moment he realized how truly limited he was. Growling low within his throat, he shifted, lazily kicking off the wall and moving swiftly, almost silently despite his size, through the crowd in the opposite direction, removing his hood to avoid suspicion.

Towering over the others, his line of sight easily fell upon the unguarded gates to the Castle grounds, spotting a few of the guards nearby, chatting to intoxicated young women, who cooed and waved their hands about invitingly. The Gerudo almost rolled his eyes at how easy this would be.

_With every passing generation, they only seem to grow more lazy and foolish_, he thought with a smirk, _Most of the Royal Guard aren't even properly trained_.

And true enough, he'd seen all he needed to earlier in the day with their pitiful displays of swordsmanship. The peasants may have been amused and easily impressed, but any man with even an ounce of skill could see that they lacked technique, and had learned bastardized stances.

The times of peace only seemed to make Hyrule weaker, each passing year slowly letting the skills of old deteriorate and leaving them more vulnerable than ever before. He had little doubt that the Royal Family's armies, in the event of a war, would be made of conscripted farmers and peons desperate for glory, untrained and unprepared. He chuckled to himself at the thought, though the humour was quickly replaced by the frustrating realization that he could not currently exploit such a weakness.

In his hasty strides, he knocked into a young man with a horse in tow, the boy shunted violently to the side as he lost his footing, sent stumbling into a stall and knocking over a barrel of water. Ganondorf continued his pace, though the action did alleviate some of his foul mood, especially when the stalls owner started barking at the poor lad. Far enough away now to look over at the scene without drawing attention, the Gerudo peered over his shoulder as he walked, in time to see the boy slip upon the wet stone as he reached for the horse's reigns, toppling into the beast and startling it. A dry chuckle escaped him as the horse reared back with a loud whinny, speeding off into the crowd with a thunderous and wild gallop, a few of the festival goers giving a screech or a gasp and jumping aside to avoid it's path.

As the crowd ahead of it quickly divided with some panic, Ganondorf noted the change in mood immediately, as the peoples faces contorted into something of a parental concern, some shouting things along the lines of 'Look out' and 'Somebody get the girl'.

That was when he spotted her.

Within that moment, the world seemed to grow still. In the steed's path, dressed humbly in a plain, pale blue dress and white cardigan, was a shocked little girl, frozen in place. Blonde hair, like spun gold, feathered at the edges of her childlike jaw from behind thin, pointed ears, two braids running at the sides of her head to meet at the back neatly. Her skin was pale and unblemished, and her build was slight and petite, with only a very thin layer of childlike fat to line it. Bright blue crystalline eyes, like the waters of Lake Hylia shimmering on a summer day, wavered wide upon the oncoming stallion, who dwarfed her in everyway, icy pink lips quivering slightly. The Gerudo's eyes widened with recognition, a jolt running along his spine and spurring him to move before he even realized why.

The girl, finally overcoming the shock and finding herself able to move, knew that it was far too late to do so; With a helpless whimper, she threw her arms up in front of her face, crouching some and flinching as she looked away, eyes closed tight. A final round of gasps and cries escaped the crowd around her, as a rush of wind breezed her skin and the light behind her eyelids grew dark. A strangled sound like a neigh cut short echoed within sudden silence, followed by the loud thump of flesh against stone, skidding slightly to the side behind her. After a moment, she blinked, opening her eyes to find herself in a large shadow. Peering up through her arms slowly, dropping them slightly until her face could be seen once more, she stared up at the cloaked back of a white haired man, standing like a pillar before her.

The still scene suddenly erupted with a roaring cheer, the people around giving heavy applause for the feat they'd just seen, as she turned her head to see the stallion on its side, unconscious, near the fountain behind them. Her heart beat like a wild drum within her fragile chest, thrumming in her ears and almost deafening her to the crowd and the sound of a boot fall in front of her. Blinking, her head turned quickly, large blue eyes meeting a fierce golden gaze.

Ganondorf stared down, almost disbelievingly, half turned toward her. His brows furrowed over wide and curious eyes, his deep voice rich and smooth when it finally came. "What are you doing here…" He asked slowly, turning with a heavy though silent step to face her fully. "…Princess Zelda?"

The applause died down almost immediately, replaced with shocked whispers, heads turning to one another as the people questioned what they'd just heard with surprise. All eyes within the vicinity quickly fell to the tiny Princess, who shakily stood, peering around with some panic at having been discovered. She could hear the shifting metallic sounds of guards approaching through the crowd already. With a light sigh, and a look of defeat, her crystalline gaze turned to her bare feet; _Father is going to be furious,_ she thought.

The disguised Gerudo's attention shifted to the guards as they came bursting through the crowds, his keen eyes easily picking up on the few of them with the royal crest emblazoned upon the breastplates of their armour, which seemed to be a polished gold colour rather than silver. He really didn't need this attention, especially not from the King's personal escort—From the way those men moved, it was obvious that Zelda had been discovered missing quite a while ago. And now she was found with him having just saved her from danger.

There was a good chance he would either be questioned or taken for a reward or some expression of gratitude; The Gerudo was well aware of the current King's penchant for shows of humility toward the people, and if he was brought before the throne and personally thanked, his only opportunity to sneak unnoticed and unrecognized into the restricted sections of the libraries would cease to exist. Any mention of it as a repayment would surely raise suspicion. Even if he never entered the castle, the crowds knew his face and the guards were about to.

His gaze snapped back to her, his fingers twitching as his mind raced. _Damn it all,_ He hissed at himself mentally, _Why did it have to be her! _Ganondorf knew that he'd acted rashly—Should Zelda die, she would take Wisdom with her, closing the window of opportunity to gather the pieces until she was reborn, and that could take a generation or so. He had acted on that fear before assessing the situation, realizing now, in horrific retrospect, that though she may have been severely injured, it was unlikely Zelda would have been killed if he had not intervened.

Within the seconds it took for the guards to approach, a few of the crowd's whispers reached his ears, raising an old memory and a devious idea. To his left, somewhere behind the first few people, a feminine voice lilted sweetly, clear and swift like the whisper of a Goddess; '_He doesn't really look Hylian, does he…? Is that one of the fabled Shiekah? I thought they'd died out!'_.

His eyes never left Zelda, as the memory of her ancestor, clever and wise, ran through his mind. She had evaded him for the entirety of his rule in the guise of a Shiekah, a member of the Shadow clan of Kakariko, so long ago when he had first claimed Power. They shared some of his skill with darker magics, and he knew he possessed enough mystical resource to imitate Shiekah technique effectively. His skills as a thief also provided him with stealth and skill with weapons, enough to pass for a member of the ancient clan in this ignorant age.

…And above all else, the Shiekah were trusted allies of the Royal family, many of them guarding the heirs in the past. He would not only be able to enter the libraries, but he would be close to Wisdom and the throne, prime to strike whenever he pleased.

Careful to conceal a rather malicious grin, he closed his eyes for only a moment, feeling the magic seep through his eyes, opening them slowly to reveal crimson irises in the place of exotic gold. The guards had already surrounded them, a few of the King's personal soldiers checking the Princess for any harm, before sending him curious glances. One of them, a tall and moderately muscled lithe man, fixed sharp eyes upon the disguised Gerudo. A soldier nodded, calling out to him. "Aye Sir, it is her."

Prideful, self-important strides were taken towards him, and it was clear he was of high rank; Perhaps even the Captain of the Royal Guard himself.

Addressing Ganondorf with a clear and authorative tone, the man rigidly spoke. "You, there." He paused, waving a hand towards the other men, issuing a silent order before his hands returned to be held behind his back. Two stood, taking the Princess—Who looked over her shoulder at her savior once more with a slightly surprised look of confusion—and escorting her away quickly, before he continued. "You have done this country a great service, protecting the future sovereign from harm." He said curtly, tilting his chin slightly upward. "A brave deed; I shall see to it that you are rewarded accordingly." He seemed almost dismissive.

The Gerudo's eyes narrowed some, irked by the man immediately. "Had your men been more attentive, she would never have been placed in harm's way at all." He said coldly, fighting the sneer threatening to crawl across his lip.

He was quickly met with a flat stare. "Be that as it may…" The man all but growled out, "Your actions have saved her from such peril." His thin lips pulled tight for a moment, as if considering the other. "…Name yourself." Piercing green eyes locked with Ganondorf's now crimson ones from beneath the metal visor, sending a silent demand that, if not met, would warrant further investigation.

The corner of Ganondorf's mouth twitched, as he cycled through a series of Shiekan phonetics in search of a convincing name. The soldier's patience was evidently wearing thin with the hesitation, and as the Gerudo saw his nostrils flare, drawing breath with the intent to speak, Ganondorf all but blurted out the first name that came to mind.

"Shiek."

Zelda stopped, her eyes widening slightly, as the name left his lips. The two guards escorting her tried to respectfully usher her along, though she pulled away from them, turning in place with a, somewhat sudden, regal air.

"I know that name." Her gaze, icy with determination, turned to the soldier addressing Ganondorf. "This man is of the Shadow Clan." She announced loudly, demanding to be heard.

The young Princess loved the stories and legends of old, thriving on them and learning anything she could about the past. Hearing the familiar name had driven out any thoughts about the shift in his eye colour that she had seen, purely replaced by childish excitement. He had recognized her, saved her, moved silently and clearly possessed distinctive features that pointed to the fact he was not a Hylian. Then he gave the name of the Shiekah that had aided the Hero of Time, in the war against the King of Evil, in freeing the sages. Her eager curiosity of him coupled with these facts quickly eclipsed any doubt that could arise within Zelda's mind.

_Oh, you brilliant child,_ Ganondorf thought, suppressing a smirk as a surge of victory shot through his chest. His eyes turned to the soldier, expectant and amused as the man grimaced only slightly.

Turning on his heel to face the Princess, the soldier smiled with a false patience. "Now, Your Highness, you don't know that as a certainty. Just because he coincidently holds that name, if it _is_ truly his name, this cannot be." His posture straightened with an arrogant air. "That clan is said to have died out decades ago, you know this."

Ganondorf's fingers twitched with the want to strike him, his distaste for the upstart doubling within that moment. _Well, _he thought icily, _I know who to take out of the equation first. His suspicion isn't going to yield…And likely, he resents taking orders from a child. _His brow furrowed some in thought as the man shot him a fleeting side glance, his green eyes tinged with the same instantaneous dislike as Ganondorf held for him. _No, even if he plays along, he'll prove to be a nuisance…_ The disguised Gerudo's jaw set tensely, perusing the other guards for their reactions as well.

The tiny Princess frowned, her eyes narrowing dangerously at the condescending undertone in his speech. "Captain, It is my business to know such things, and my right to identify them. If you are unsure, then feel free to address my Father on the subject. I am quite certain he will indulge your insecurities about the stranger who has outdone you in guarding me, today." Though she couldn't have been older than ten or so, she spoke with the same mature and even tone as she ever would. Zelda smiled sweetly then, knowing full well that the proud Captain Talleday would never reveal his inability to watch the mischievous heiress to her father; "He shall want to thank Shiek, after all, and I am sure he will be eager to meet him. You can take it up with him when we all arrive."

The Captain's nose visibly twitched, his head cocking back as if avoiding a bee that flew too close, though his face was set. He glanced toward Ganondorf once more before arching an eyebrow at the Princess. With a long breath, he relented. "Very well, If you are quite certain." He then turned his gaze to the supposed Shiekah, in full. "You should have no problem in a demonstration of skill, then, I assume? I am sure His Majesty will want to see the magic of the Shadow Clan with his own eyes." A smug smile settled on his lips.

Ganondorf could feel many eyes on him, the crowd, though settled, were still gathered and gossiping about the new turn of events. Casually raising a hand and running it through silvery locks, he let loose a silent sigh, fixing the Captain with a tired look. "Though I'm sure His Majesty will recognize a member of his most loyal allies immediately, I will do so if he wishes." He mused, looking almost bored. "But, I think he'll be much more interested in the reason I have come here." He lied, a plan coming together quickly.

"Oh?" The Captain replied, looking incredulous. "And what might that be?"

"To relieve you and your men of the Princess' care… I have watched you for some time now. You are ill equipped, and unsuited to the task; Today has made that clear. It seems I shall have to remove her safety from your hands, and return it to the dutiful eyes of my clan…" He said almost negligently, fighting every urge to grin, and being careful to hold a seriousness akin to what he had seen of the nursemaid, Impa, long ago. "Where it belongs."

Zelda's eyes lit up with his words, though she tried not to show it. A Shiekah had come to guard her! Just like the times of old… Her mind buzzed at the prospects of such a thing. She may be taught in combat, and she would learn detailed accounts of history. _And he's right, I will be much better protected in the hands of a Shiekah…_ She thought, _Even when I run off like today, I would bet that he'd simply watch me from afar, primed to fend off any danger._ She almost giggled at the thought. He'd watched her for a while, he'd said; _Springing forth from the shadows, just like the tales._

A flash of anger crossed the Captain's face, though it was quickly hidden with a roll of his shoulders. A quick survey of his men easily told him that he was the only one who seemed concerned by this claim in the slightest. "Well, we'll just leave that up to His Majesty to decide." He snapped quickly, beckoning the Shiekah with a wave of his hand. "Come. I shall escort you myself… Shiek." He bit out the name with obvious distaste, before turning on his heel and walking with that prideful gait, sword swaying at his hip. "The rest of you, to your posts. Jilan, Riles; with me." He barked, the men following faithfully behind him at no more than three paces.

Zelda remained in her place a moment, waiting so that she might walk beside her potential protector. As Ganondorf began to walk, glancing down at her with a look of interest in his eye, she smiled up at him, eagerly padding along with his vast strides. The crowds of festival goers watched the group take their leave, gossiping with heated whispers about the strange and exciting scene; the porcine sports pushed to the wayside in the public's attention as word of the mysterious Shiekah spread like wildfire through every corner of Castle town.

**Yay! Prologue done! …Though, I'm super tired and it's 2:55am. This isn't the best I could've done with it most likely, and I know I skipped a few descriptions and stuff.**

**I'll make up for it when I'm more awake, in the next chapter.**

**Anyway, I had this idea for a story in my head for a while, and I haven't really seen it before. And, Under Grey Skies got fantastic reviews and support, so I decidedto go ahead with this one as well, and I have a Link and Ganondorf story in the works too. (No, not slash. Sorry.) But I'll get through this one first before that, I think.**

…**I have a horrible feeling this plot is going to be a real brain drain, especially later. I actually had to make notes about it, because it'll probably get complicated.**

**Anyway, I'll write the next chapter when I wake up. Goodnight!**


	2. A Venomous Melody

Ganondorf could hardly believe the serendipitous luck he was quickly coming into.

The shifting of metal armour and the faint chinking of chain mail echoed coldly off of the stone making up the castle walls. Plush blue carpet beneath their feet muffled the sounds of their steps, lining the halls proudly as armoured statues, like the ghosts of still watchful soldiers, stood at each side. High marble arches swept overhead; any window passed was glorious and tall, depicting delicate scenes within stained glass. Tapestries and portraits decorated the walls, a coat of arms above every vast door.

The grand castle was immaculate, just as imposing and proud as it ever had been.

The disguised Gerudo's crimson gaze glided over every detail, taking it in as if it may disappear at any moment, nothing more than a dream. He was in the castle, beside his most elusive quarry, and with a little persuading, it could well stay that way. _It's almost too good to be true,_ he thought to himself, a weary eye upon the Captain's back as they walked, _Then again… I suppose there won't be much truth to it at all._ Already he was cultivating appropriate lies within his cunning mind, trying to cover any conceivable questions that may be asked of him. Ganondorf didn't posses extensive knowledge of the Shiekah, and he knew it would be advantageous to play on the aloof nature the clan was rumored to have had._ On the upside, the genuine article isn't likely to appear out of the woodwork to contest my claim, _he thought with a slight smirk.

Padding barefoot beside her large savior, the Princess' worries for any punishment her state and behaviour may incur were slipping steadily away. So enchanted was she by this strange and sudden appearance of a Shiekan guardian, barely any other thought could cross her mind. The feel of the soft carpet on her toes and the taste of caramel sweets still on her tongue, Zelda had concluded that this day had easily been one of her best; sojourn well worth the risk. Perhaps the Gods were rewarding her, indulging in the Princess' adventurous nature.

Crystalline eyes peered eagerly up at the disguised Gerudo, questions buzzing at the back of her mind like an angry hive of wasps as tiny digits curled and picked at the hem above her dirty knees. The curiosity and wonderment was clearly evident in her expressive, childlike features. She had all but forgotten the Captain and his men walked ahead, within earshot, when after a long silence she could no longer hold her tongue.

"How is it that you came into your name?" She said suddenly, peering up at Ganondorf with a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

When his attention pulled toward her, crimson eyes studying the child, Zelda's hands quickly ceased their idle fidgeting and were clasped lightly in front of her—Clearly a forced habit, he noted. Ganondorf's gaze left her for a moment, glancing toward the Captain, as he considered how best to answer. Doubtless, the pompous soldier's pointed ears were twitching with anticipation beneath that flamboyant helmet. With the click of his tongue, he cocked a brow toward the young Princess.

"What were you expecting, child?"

Ignoring the stifled scoff that came from the Captain, Zelda blinked, almost disappointed that he did not answer immediately. Her icy pink lips moved slowly, as if unsure of the words they formed.

"I… perhaps wondered if you are the same man from the legends, or a descendant." She admitted, somewhat quietly.

"He couldn't possibly be the same man." The captain announced loudly, in a tone that allowed no room for argument. His head was tilted at an angle that almost would have shown the top of his nose over his head, if not for the visor. "The Great Cataclysm was centuries ago."

The tiny Princess glared daggers at the Captain's squared shoulders, her eyes tracing the embossed patterns upon the armour as if silently questioning his right to wear it.

"I am aware of that, thank you, Captain Talleday." She uttered coldly.

Ganondorf chuckled lightly, the sound rumbling in his throat. _Tenacious little thing_, he thought, amused by the tension between the small sovereign and the soldier. Such sweet and sour dispositions he had seen in her already—Though, he was nothing short of thankful for her defensive reactions toward his authenticity. Deciding to test the waters while he could, he directed his response toward the Captain.

"Have you met any of my brethren before, Captain?"

Without even turning his head to look back, the man snorted. "Of course not."

"So, then, I am to assume you know very little of my kind? Life expectancy would be one of those, would it not?" He lifted a thick silver eyebrow, though he knew it wouldn't be seen. You could practically hear the expression in his tone.

The Gerudo almost grinned outright when the haughty Captain seemed to twitch with agitation, his muscles tensing as he took one significantly slower step before righting himself. Crimson eyes noticed a braced hand settling upon the hilt of the sword at his hip, and though innocuous, Ganondorf recognized the subtle move easily. The Captain had a temper, and though he would have to be adept at reining it in to hold such ranking, it seemed he had a very short fuse when undermined or challenged.

"I thought as much." Ganondorf rumbled lowly, his eyes flicking toward Zelda as a bright smile took her lips. The guards following Talleday exchanged concerned glances, further adding to the evidence of the Captain's irritability. The Gerudo could guess that the guards would most likely cop the fallout of any exchange that he and the Captain had.

He hadn't answered or confirmed anything for either of them, yet neither questioned him further, for the moment. He marveled at that, secretly amazed by the ease of which he was able to avoid subjects he wasn't able to answer effectively… yet. Surely, the King himself would follow suit with his daughter, easily accepting him. Once he gained access to the libraries, he could also research the Shiekah to flesh out his story. He just needed to keep this up until then, buying time for himself.

A grand marble archway towered over them as they seemed to reach their destination, a large chamber with a high and ornate wooden throne sitting at the opposite side, held high upon a dais. An expanse of royal blue carpet rolled across the stone floor, with wooden seating lining the walls around. It seemed this was a public court of some kind, a large effigy of the family crest held above the throne giving the sense that the Gods watched the proceedings as well.

To the eastern side, through a smaller archway, a decorated room with large tables and bookshelves held a small group of men, most of them older and dressed in fine robes. Councilmen. They seemed to be gathered around one man, milling about and pointing to the map spread across a large, circular plateau. Some seemed to be trying to pull attention to themselves, showing worn pages to the central figure and relaying whatever they held. As the group drew near, the ancient men paused their usual business, eyes turning to Ganondorf with hawk like precision; some looked shocked, others simply peered at him over their glasses curiously. The sudden scrutiny sent a shiver of self doubt crawling up the Gerudo's spine, though when the men moved aside to allow the central figure to see, Ganondorf quickly swallowed the feeling.

Standing in the midst of the council, with a kind though stern look upon his face, was a tall man with neatly trimmed short brown hair. A strong jaw was graced by a light beard, styled to frame his chin and draw attention upward. His stance was proud, despite a stocky build, and he held a regal air with sharp, defined features. Stark blue eyes, pale and clear, turned to meet crimson with intrigue. Dressed in a white ceremonial breastplate, adorned with gold filigree and a thick crimson cape that swept out behind him, any man could easily tell that they were now within the company of the King.

Within the blink of an eye, the trio of soldiers had dropped to a knee, seemingly folding under the sheer weight of the sovereign's presence, though their loyalty showed in every fiber of their beings.

"Your Majesty." Talleday greeted formally, head bowed.

Zelda, who had taken to standing slightly behind Ganondorf's leg, flinched slightly when her father's eyes, after the soldiers had given him clear view of her, immediately turned in her direction. He looked affronted.

"Zelda." He called sternly, his brow twitching slightly.

Hesitating for a moment, before slowly stepping out to the side of her position, she smiled, feeling small and nervous. "…Yes, father?"

She could already tell, by the expressions upon the weathered faces of the councilmen, that her earlier thoughts on punishment should not have been so easily forgotten. The King's eyes took stock of her state—A plain peasant's frock with grass stains and a crocheted cardigan, bare foot with dirt on her knees and flecks of what looked to be hay in her hair. The dress and cardigan sported red smears, as if toffee coated fingers had touched them. There was even a dark patch, like a spatter of mud that had been wiped clear, on her nose. The longer his gaze remained upon her, the lower her head fell, her toes twiddling nervously as she recognized the look on his face.

His Majesty's eye twitched.

"Who is to blame for this?" He spluttered, fiercely turning a suspicious eye toward the disguised Gerudo, who, quite calmly despite his internal worries, dropped his gaze toward the Captain in a silent answer.

Talleday shifted some as the King's firm stare landed squarely upon him.

"Explain." It was clearly an order.

Clearing his throat with trepidation, the Captain spoke rather weakly now that he was in front of the King and council. "Please, Sire, understand that I took all haste and care in finding her once she had slipped away from her lessons." He began, taking a slow breath. "I was attending my usual duties, unaware of her absconding, until her literary tutor informed me that he had lost track of her Highness, towards the end of the lesson, after her request for a glass of water…"

The King shook his head slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose with a heavy sigh as he spoke. "Zelda, really…" He muttered, sounding disappointed and slightly annoyed. His hand shifted, curling to hold his chin betwixt thumb and forefinger as pale blue eyes leveled the child with a long stare. "I thought we talked about this."

The Princess' hands, held behind her back apologetically, idly fidgeted. Only Ganondorf was in a position to see this, and noted that the strange habit seemed to show stress and excitement within the child. Zelda spoke up with a slight pout. "I am sorry father… I only wished to see the festival races, and my request was denied unfairly."

Her father's attention wavered now, seeming to flick between the disguised Gerudo—Remembering his presence—and his daughter. "It was denied, because you are still under watch from your last offense." The king arched a think brow at the girl. "You requested instruction with the violin, and not more than three weeks after I finally find a tutor that meets the requirements, you deliberately sneak away from your lessons to spend the day in the gardens."

Ganondorf's brow furrowed slightly, when Zelda sent him a pleading look. Unfortunately, the King's gaze quickly followed his daughter's, settling on the stranger. "And who is this?" He asked, obviously intent on moving onto the subject of why his daughter was in Ganondorf's company.

Zelda spoke quickly, cutting Talleday off before he could sour this crucial first impression. "A member of the Shadow Clan, Shiek; He is the one who found me." She bounced on her feet lightly, once, before reining in her enthusiasm to continue. "He recognized me immediately father, and swept me out of harm's way. He even mentioned that he has been observing me for some time, I don't doubt that he is responsible for my safety recently."

A hushed discussion immediately started amongst the councilmen, as the King narrowed his eyes slightly. Ganondorf's gut twisted with the notion that he may be suspicious, though had to keep himself from staring blankly when her father's thoughts seemed to tangent. "…Harm's way?" He questioned, his stern expression thinly veiling displeasure, directed toward the guards.

"Yes, Sire…" Talleday grudgingly admitted, "A wayward stallion caught her Highness within its path. Then this 'Shiek' appeared and put it off course, before insisting on the fact that we were…" He peered back at the disguised Gerudo, "…'Ill equipped', was it?" His attention returned to his sovereign. "…To guard the Princess." He finished spitefully.

Ganondorf's blood boiled with the urgent need to break his rouse and send the Captain sailing through the wall. _All in good time,_ he calmed himself, repeating it in his head until his heart slowed to a calm pace again. He noticed though, with some relief, that the King was now studying him with the same intrigue as when he first entered, the ghost of a smile upon his lips.

"And yet, he's not said a word since he's stood before me." The King said softly, the weight of his words felt throughout the room as he said them. It was a clear sign for Talleday to curb his opinions. With a curt nod, he gestured towards the guards. "I shall see to him now. You and your men may take your leave, Captain."

They rose, the two accompanying Talleday saluting with unison, "Sire!" They called, before turning to obey immediately. The Captain fought to hide a grimace, nodding slowly, before giving a similar salute. "Your Majesty." He turned on his heel, green eyes glaring toward the supposed Shiekah with utter spite as he left, boots leaving an echo with their heavy steps.

The Gerudo smirked some, turning his head to watch them leave. It seemed the haughty Captain held less sway than he thought. _That's promising,_ he thought, noticing the Princess also seemed pleased that they were leaving. She smiled up at him reassuringly, as if he were a stray pet that was finally being accepted into the family, despite protest.

"Now, then…" The King sighed some, turning to take a few steps toward the Gerudo, "Let's start from the beginning, shall we?" He turned a smile toward his daughter.

"Shiek, wasn't it?" The King asked casually, arching a brow.

Ganondorf nodded, crimson eyes watching the girl's father cautiously. The King studied him openly, circling the large man as if inspecting him for any flaws. Once he had completed his movement, a glance was sent toward the councilmen, who looked upon their King with rather bored and doubtful expressions.

"…And you claim to be a Shiekah…" He mused, eyes narrowing slightly. "Though that clan has not been seen within the last century, and not a one has contacted my family to inform us of a surviving line within Hyrule." He stated matter-of-factly, a cold tone seeping into his voice.

His fingers twitched as he realized the King was perhaps not as foolhardy as he had wished; The Gerudo's mind raced to find a response, finding his voice. "I came here by the instruction of an elder, who has recently passed." He lied, his back itching as the words rolled of his tongue.

He had to choose every word carefully now, memorizing anything that passed his lips. Though Ganondorf had done this many times, he was now out of his element—He had always been able to craft masterful lies by exploiting political position, or his intimate knowledge of both his own and Hylian cultures. Now he was left raw and exposed, unprepared and limited in his information, and he knew if he ventured too far that he would fall prey to those present who did truly know of the Shiekah and their ways.

"My line has served as caretakers and attendants to your family in the past. Impa, who founded Kakariko, was one of my great ancestors, though not directly. I am of the sons of that family, a brother of hers, if I am to understand the tales of my lineage correctly."

The council once again slid into whispers, and the Gerudo could tell that he'd gone out on a limb already. Under the stern scrutiny of the King, and the hopeful gaze of his daughter, he continued.

"We are no longer the clan we were. Our blood has thinned over time, and no pure blooded Shiekah remain, though I am of the closest degree. The Elder's visions foretold a cycle and the presence of the bearer of Wisdom once again within the world. There is a very high chance that the Evil King, too, will follow. I have been sent at the Elder's behest to guard her, due to this revelation."

The King seemed to accept this, nodding slowly, though turned away for a moment to address the council quietly. "A moment." He requested, as he and a few of the oldest men wandered aside, speaking with low voices.

The young Princess watched them with a look of concern, before peering up at her savior again. Ganondorf could see it all within her eyes; This explanation was not going to pass easily. He needed something substantial. _Blast,_ he thought, combing his mind for anything that may help his case—A whisper, a rumor, a myth or even another name. His face was set, calm though it held its natural scowl, as he watched the men converse privately. He was so close, he just needed something more…

That was when it struck him, flowing across his mind like the gentle breeze within the fields he adored. A melody, glowing dim like an ember, from long ago… Before the Triforce. Before his rise, when he had stood at the Hyrulian King's side, at the time a seemingly faithful friend and ally.

His gaze turned to Zelda as the memory grew stronger, her wavering crystalline eyes staring up at him with innocence. His face contorted into one of deep thought, as if searching her eyes for the final notes, before a look of eureka swam across his crimson irises. Ganondorf stared down at the ground for a moment, imagining utter silence before closing his eyes, the sound clear within his head. A hand rose to his mouth, two fingers pinched to his lip as he drew a deep, calm breath.

A low, soft whistle resounded in the chamber, drawing the immediate attention of all those within. Eyes went wide, and mouths were left open in awe, as the familiar sound of a lullaby rolled sweetly through the air. The whispers and deliberations ceased, the King left speechless, without a touch of judgment to taint his defined features as he simply stared.

Zelda stared up at him too, taking an unconscious step toward the disguised Gerudo, the lullaby like a siren's call to her twitching ears. Her eyes, pure and untainted, gazed up at his harsh face with only wonderment and adulation. Her icy pink lips quivered with unspoken words, lost to the sound, before spreading into one of the sweetest, joyous smiles any may have ever seen upon her delicate face.

"My lullaby…" She whispered. "You know my lullaby…"

The soft sound faded with the last breath, as Ganondorf slowly opened his eyes, looking down upon her with an oddly fond and knowing glance.

"I do, child. For I will guard even your dreams." He smiled at her. Inside, echoing through his mind, a sinister chuckle unvoiced rolled like thunder. There would be no doubt now. _How ironic,_ he thought, _That such a sweet lullaby would be the venom to kill all that you hold dear, in time._

The Gerudo's gaze pulled toward the sound of boots stepping slowly away from the councilmen, to once again meet the cool blue eyes of the King. A moment passed in silence, the ghost of the melody haunting the room still, until the quiet and regal voice filled the space from between a soft smile.

"Welcome back to my family's service… Shiek."

**Ganondorf is in! Whoo!**

**I've been replaying OoT lately, 3DS is epic. But it brought back that idea of the lullaby being proof of connection to the Royal family. And, well, I just couldn't resist.**

**Now we can really get this thing rolling! Yay!**

**Also, I love Talleday. He is such an epic douche. I'm going to let him grow a pompous moustache, I think.**


	3. Inspirational Studies

Within a few short days, everything had settled into place. Ganondorf had been given rooms within the children's wing, two halls away from the young Princess' quarters. The Captain, despite some last minute protest to the matter, had been relieved of his extra duties in watching Zelda, which his men seemed to think a relief. The Gerudo had noted, with interest, that the young Princess was something of an escape artist when he'd overheard the gossip on how he might fare in the guards' place.

The council on the whole had been accepting of Zelda's new attendant, with many of them impressed by the novelty. A few had been more attentive, catching him within the halls for idle conversation, and though they probably thought themselves sly, Ganondorf was more than aware of their subtle probing. One of them, an old and wiry man who looked withdrawn and perhaps a little meek, seemed especially interested in him for scholarly reasons. He would study the disguised Gerudo over rounded glasses, clinging to a heavy textbook with a small dagger held in the pages, eagerly discussing history. Though this was slightly worrying at first, as he was pressed to give information on the Shiekah, Ganondorf found the man's weakness for rambling when the conversation took an obsessive turn toward the Oocca people of the sky. Since then, the Gerudo's concern had waned, and he also managed to find out an interesting tidbit about how the ancient Shiekah had apparently kept contact with these sky beings. Gleaning more and more information from the elder man through his tirades, Ganondorf easily kept up with him, feigning knowing glances and storing any information helpful to him.

The Princess herself was not so easy to gain information from. Though she had many questions to ask him, the range of these made it obvious she was far more knowledgeable of the Shiekah than he. Ganondorf managed to avoid most accordingly, being vague and cryptic when an answer needed to be given. But swiftly, he was running out of excuses with his young ward.

He had already adjusted to and memorized most of the Princess' daily routine, and this day, thinking it the perfect excuse to halt her excessive questions—also to do some research while avoiding exposure—Ganondorf had insisted that Zelda take her leisure time within the libraries. Though the girl had seemed disappointed that the answers she sought were refused to her from him personally, she consented.

"I do not see why you cannot tell me yourself, Sheik." Zelda sulked quietly, sorting through a large collection of books upon a low table.

The two of them were currently seated within a reading area, exotic cushions providing the seats near a selection of wines and a cabinet for drinks, the room decorated with delicately painted landscapes and a variety of indoor plants.

Ganondorf, whose attention was quite taken with the pleasantly familiar and comfortable space, blinked toward her, seemingly distracted by her voice from many thoughts. His face settled into a tired look. "Your father requested I try to instill you with good habits wherever possible. If you search for your answers here, your researching technique and concentration for study will improve." He answered flatly. He was sick of this kind of argument already.

The young Princess sighed lightly, leaning an elbow upon the table as she despondently cupped her cheek with a childish pout.

With a disciplinary frown, Ganondorf snapped his fingers, pointing to the offending elbow. "What did I just tell you three minutes ago?" He growled with some exasperation.

Removing the elbow to release the page of a book and settle her arms upon her lap with a lazy flop, she stared at him with a defensive look. "But it's only the reading area! There isn't even anybody here to see!"

The Gerudo grimaced, annoyed by the response. "I don't care. Elbows off." He growled low, his patience evidently wearing thin.

Without further argument, Zelda reached for one of her chosen tomes and began flipping through the pages in a frustrated silence.

_By the Gods,_ Ganondorf thought, returning his arms to be crossed upon his chest, _I'll end up strangling her at this pace…_With a long exhale through his nose, his crimson gaze wandered over the collection gathered on the table. A few caught his eye, looking to hold good information on the Shiekah. He just needed a decent excuse to read them.

As he thought, he shifted some, unused to the strange and foreign attire. Using the memory of Impa and the actual Sheik, he had magically altered his cloak and dressings into an outfit befitting his claim. Tight material clung to his muscles, feeling like leather to the touch though much more flexible. Dark fingerless gloves covered his hands, and the holy mark, with gilded metal braces running over his forearms. The skintight underlay covered his whole body, alternating between black and a dark navy colour in sections over his limbs. Over that, what was once his cloak had transformed into a white fabric that draped about his shoulders, with a loose section bearing the Shiekan eye hanging to cover his chest. Thin black boots were tightly strapped, matching the gloves, and his slivery hair was tied back into a long plat that fell to his mid back, with a few loose locks falling over his brow. It was designed to match whatever artist depiction of Sheik may be found closely, though he seemed much more imposing with his many rippling muscles clearly on show through the tight second skin.

Swallowing his dislike of feeling almost naked around the child, he pushed the thoughts aside and reached for a book, opening it with a deliberately bored mannerism. Flipping through the pages, his eyes finally skimmed something of interest when the annoying chime of the child's voice rang in his ears.

"Why are you reading that? Don't you already know everything in it?" Zelda questioned, peering at him while undoubtedly hiding a cheeky grin behind her own book.

Closing his eyes for a moment while willing himself to remain calm, Ganondorf addressed her negligently. "Settle down, child. I was merely curious as to how accurately portrayed my brethren are within these accounts." He lied.

"Oh." Zelda blinked, lowering her book thoughtfully. "…Are they? Accurate, I mean."

"I haven't read any of it yet." He snapped.

"But you're already half way through the boo— "

"Yes I know!" He scowled fiercely at the girl, slamming the open book upon the table and gritting his teeth. "I was skimming through the pages!"

The Princess stared at him with a shocked look, not expecting the flash of temper. She seemed to shrink away from him some, with a slightly guilty look. Ganondorf immediately cursed himself for it, but just as his expression softened, Zelda added quietly, "…That's not very good study technique, if I am learning by example…."

With a heavy sigh, the Gerudo's fingers quickly found their way to pinch the bridge of his nose, his eyes squeezing shut; much like her father had done with the child before. A long pause allowed a tense silence to settle between them, as Ganondorf began to realize how difficult this may prove to be. He hadn't spared a single thought to the fact that he was inexperienced with children. Hell, he hadn't really expected her to be different from any other incarnation… Only now was he realizing that he had no idea how to handle children at all. He'd never spent any time around them, and never needed to—The Gerudo children of the Desert had been kept segregated from the adult public, closely guarded and treasured within a private section of the fortress until they became old enough to face the desert trials and be trained. The youngest members he'd ever interacted with were of perhaps fourteen or fifteen summers at the least, hardened and already world weary with swiftly forged maturity.

This girl was sheltered and spoilt, and though she held commendable intellect for one so young, she was still gripped by a childish whimsy that left the Gerudo at a loss for how to respond. In only the few days he had interacted with her, he had stumbled across many behaviours and ideas within the young Princess that either shocked, confused or outright infuriated him.

And he knew he was not adapting well.

Shaking his head lightly as his hand fell away, he looked up at her from beneath thick white brows. He grimaced some, thinking of an excuse for his irritability until he could learn to keep it in check. "…I apologise. I have been… struggling with the elder's death. I didn't mean to be so harsh with you."

The young Princess blinked a few times, studying his face with the same expression she'd taken when he had snapped at her, before slowly nodding. Her large crystalline eyes dropped to her lap, wavering upon the page of her book for a moment. When her head rose up toward him, her expression was a much more somber and forgiving one.

"That's alright…" She started quietly, with a faint and reassuring smile. "I was the same way when my mother died. I didn't make things any easier for father, though he was just as distraught as I…" Her gaze dropped again to her hands, which were now fidgeting. "…I said a lot of things I regret."

The Gerudo shifted uncomfortably, trying to think of an appropriate response. He could really care less, all this distraction wasn't getting him anywhere in his research. Ganondorf settled for a comforting expression, taking quite a bit of effort to soften his face and rid it of any trace of his annoyance. "I am sure he knows that you did not mean them." He offered, sending her a glance to complete the expression though his eyes quickly turned away.

Zelda took up her book once more, becoming withdrawn and hiding somewhat behind the tome. "I hope so." She uttered quietly, her posture making her sudden depression obvious.

Finally left in peace to read, Ganondorf quickly scoured the page, absorbing its words carefully, and then skimming through other pages to find more information of note. As the minutes past, the Princess only seemed to grow more remorseful. Flicking her a small glance over the top of his book, the disguised Gerudo could have rolled his eyes. It was obvious her reading had ceased a while ago, her thoughts and emotions consuming her, and she looked as if she were about to cry. _Damn it all,_ he growled in his mind, staring hatefully at the unfallen tears in her glossed eyes, _I shouldn't have yelled at her…Now what?_

His book closed sharply, making the tiny girl flinch, which he regretted immediately. She was staring at him with those large blue eyes, delicate brows twitching as her cute face slowly began to shrink into the first stages of crying. He fixed at her with a defeated look, though he didn't intend to. "What's the matter?" He asked, though it held a concerned tone—More for the fact that he didn't want her to cry, rather than wanted to comfort her. She gave no answer, and Ganondorf's heart fell as instead, a high pitched whine came from her throat as the first tears finally slid down her now rosy cheeks.

_Oh, Gods…_

The first choked sob broke loose as her book was left abandoned in her lap, her hands rising to be held at her eyes as her tiny frame began to tremble and shake. Ganondorf's eyes filled with clear panic as they shot toward the arched entrance, looking around the library for any onlookers. A few scholars milled about, though most were out of earshot. Settling wild eyes upon the small girl, the Gerudo held up his hands, gesturing them toward her as if unsure of whether to touch her. "Now, now, Zelda… Calm down…" He pleaded, sounding a bit desperate.

The Princess shook her head, speaking between pitiful sobs. "I-I'm sorry, I, I'm so, so, troublesome…!" She sniffled, collapsing onto the low table to bury her face into her arms as her cries became louder and more distraught. "Nobody w-wants to be l-left with me…! I j-just annoy every-y-one! Even f-father d-doesn't, want to, d-deal with m-me!" Another high pitched whine followed the broken voice.

A few of the eyes near by had turned in their direction now, causing the Gerudo to twitch nervously, his eyes wide and frantically searching for something to stop her tears. _Stupid girl! Why! By the Goddesses' Will, stop!_ Without thinking, he blurted out words he may well regret later. "That's not true! You don't annoy me, Zelda, I came here only for you! You are my entire purpose and reason to exist!"

He froze, as her head slowly rose, peering at him with innocent, wavering eyes. Glossed and shining, it was like they pierced the remnants of his very soul, turning him to stone. Trembling, she sniffed, her cries settling back into soft sobs. _Oh, there we go… That's it…calm down…_But just as the thought ran through his mind, he flinched as the child launched herself from her position to throw herself into him. Holding his arms wide as he stared down in shock, all of his breath left him as his heart surely stopped. Zelda clung to him tightly, curling upon his lap and burying her face into the loose fabric about his torso.

Horrified, the disguised Gerudo could do nothing as his hands twitched, unwilling to touch her though desperate to throw her off of him. His head twisted suddenly to the side, taking note of the stares they were now receiving. _Oh, that can't be good…_He could've sworn he could hear the whispers burning his ears.

"Zelda!" He whispered desperately, his mind racing through the repercussions witness accounts could herald if it continued. "The scholars are staring…!" His breath had almost doubled in panic as finally his hands moved to slowly try and pry her back into a suitable position.

The Princess slowly complied, though kept a tight grip on the light fabric covering his chest as she only allowed him to move her onto his outer lap. Getting some control over her sobs, she spoke weakly. "I know… But, I… Just…" Her head hung low, as heavy tears dropped onto her dress. "I never get to… spend any time with my Father anymore… and… I have felt so empty since… Mother died… I always seem to be disappointing or embarrassing someone, and nobody seems to listen to me anymore…" Blinking, she looked up at him with shining eyes. "Sometimes it felt like… the Gods had… forgotten about me…"

Then a small smile appeared on her sweet face, and the Gerudo could feel something dangerous snap inside of him.

"Until you came."

An uncharacteristic wave of self loathing shot through him as he stared helplessly into those bright eyes. She looked at him with such admiration and gratitude… And he would betray her every hope and dream. Somewhere deep within himself, he was sorry for that. His hand rose to stroke her silken hair only once, before he remembered who she was. This was Zelda, reborn, and nothing more. She would grow into the woman he hated, the embodiment of his failures and everything he despised. This sweet little girl who clung to him dearly would one day be his enemy once again.

But staring into those eyes, he could see reflected the path before him. Ganondorf knew that, over the years, he may well grow far too attached to her for his usual methods. Looking down, his gaze shifted to the tiny fists curled into his clothes, and noted that Wisdom was also dormant; only a patch of off-coloured pigment like that of a birthmark.

His jaw shifting, his hand settled to lightly grip her upper arm. "Zelda… You are aware of your position as the Bearer of Wisdom, correct?"

The young Princess blinked, slightly taken aback by the sudden question, though nodded. "Yes…" She admitted quietly, "My mother told me that the Goddesses would give Wisdom to me as a gift, upon my sixteenth birthday."

Ganondorf nodded solemnly. _So that is why…_He thought, studying her face as the pink in her cheeks slowly faded, _The cycle won't begin until she comes of age._ _So, I will be stuck with her for a good few more years to come._ This complicated things. The Gerudo honestly didn't know if he could keep this up for at least another six years. He sighed lightly, closing his eyes. The longer he stayed the more risk he took in becoming overly accustomed to her, though he was in too advantageous a position to give it up. Leaving now would also raise suspicion… If anyone discovered that he had escaped, the Sages would quickly track him down and, without Power, easily subdue him.

But, the wheels in Ganondorf's head were turning, and Zelda's words were running through his head. _I never get to spend any time with Father anymore…_ Something clicked then. _Until you came._ Yes, and now that he was here, he had been appointed her guardian… Her attendant… Like Impa had been. Memories flashed across his mind of the day they had escaped his grasp, fleeing the castle on horseback under storming skies. The Shiekah had never left the Princess' side, protecting and raising the girl. His eyes cracked open again, looking upon his own, vulnerable and innocent, Zelda. _…My own Zelda…_His lips tugged into a grin, though unseen by the Princess, who had settled back into hugging him. She was his to raise how he pleased. He could mould her; shape her into a different woman altogether… Perhaps, even into an ally, rather than an enemy.

And he had a whole six years in which to do it.

A low, rumbling chuckle wormed its way into his throat, drawing the Princess' eyes to his face. It was easily covered. "It is indeed a gift, child. One that must be protected…" He stroked her hair again, now feeling much more justified in doing so. "And I promise, I will be here every day until you receive it, and every day thereafter." He let his smile show through, tailoring it to appear as soft and kind as he could manage.

The last of Zelda's tears dried as her dainty ears twitched, taking in his words. Finally, the sweet smile returned to her delicate features.

"…I know, Sheik."

**Ah, god, I love how this switches from cute and funny to evil plot at the drop of a hat.**

**Also, for anyone wondering where I actually got the idea for this story, you'd be surprised at the simplicity. You know in Wind Waker, in the forsaken fortress, how there's that huge wooden door to Ganondorf's room? If you look closely, there's a Shiekah symbol painted on a piece of the wood. I noticed it on my last playthrough, and I was like, '…What the hell?'**

**But then I started thinking about the Dark interlopers, and the Tribe of evil that Aghanim was in, and just other possible connections here and there, between the Twili and the Gerudo and the Shiekah, and Ganondorf in the midst of it all.**

**That, coupled with my completion of OoT masterquest birthed the weird idea of 'What would happen if Ganny disguised himself as a Shiekah, Like Zelda did?' and I was totally like, OMG he could so pull that off, and yeah.**

**Now it's this fic.**

…**Weird how things come around like that, isn't it?**


	4. Tension and Butterflies

Ganondorf trudged down the grand halls, thoroughly annoyed, and his scowling face sent a clear message of that to any in his path. The servants and even nobles dashed out of his way, almost superstitiously, as the disguised Gerudo made his way toward the King's private study.

Word had gotten back to Zelda's father about their unusual proximity within the library, as he feared it might have. Why else would he be called so suddenly to speak with the King? Urgently, too, as it was put to him. But with the quiet nature of the scholars, and their lack of interaction with the King himself, Ganondorf couldn't help but wonder, with fury, who exactly had opened their damned, gossiping trap. Also, by that train of thought, whose blood would line his blade tonight.

Coming finally to a large set of doors, ornately carved woodwork giving them a powerful and heavy look, he sighed. Lifting a hand to settle on the brass handle, they were pushed open with a loud and lonely creak as prying eyes watched from behind him. Stepping forward, the air was still, and though the room held large windows, arching high, all of them were closed to the pleasant breeze outside. For a moment, almost unconsciously, the Gerudo's fingers twitched with the notion that the King was either insane or horribly ungrateful; How could he coop himself up, when outside lay the most beautiful lands of the world, graced by the tender kiss of the Goddesses' breath?

Glancing around the small room, he couldn't help the bored grimace that appeared on his lips. High mahogany bookshelves, filled to the brim with ancient and dusty looking tomes, lined the walls. A large portrait of Hyrule castle hung proudly above a grand desk, covered with scattered papers and half filled ink wells, the quills bent and matted from hours of writing. A chair, lined with crimson silk cushioning sat at the helm of it, at an odd angle as if pushed to the side when the occupant stood. A glazed porcelain globe, depicting Hyrule, Holodrum, Labrynna and the rest of the known world, stood in the center of the room, upon the marble floor. It was a lifeless and rigid space, that immediately made the Gerudo anxious with a strange claustrophobia.

"Ah, there you are." Came the even and regal voice, drawing Ganondorf's attention to the side as the King stepped away from a drinks cabinet, wine chalice in hand.

Crimson eyes shot toward him, noting the more casual attire. A deep red tunic, embroidered with gold patterns about the hems and large, silver buttons, was donned instead of the breastplate. He wore dark brown riding pants, with leather boots, though by the mountain of papers set aside untouched, it appeared the King did not intend to go anywhere.

Raising a brow, Ganondorf replied humbly. "I am sorry to hold you up from the rest of your day, Sire. What is it you wanted to see me about, exactly?" He wanted to sort this quickly.

Hesitating for a moment, as the Shiekah skipped the formalities to head straight to the point, the King glanced at his wine before slowly speaking. "…It has come to my attention that you have… overstepped your duty of care to stumble into," His cool blue eyes turned to the ceiling as he pondered the best way to say it. "Questionable territory."

His icy coloured gaze settled solely upon Ganondorf then, as the Gerudo tried to set his features. His internal rage was practically tearing at his mouth to form a sneer.

"Really." He asked rhetorically. "…And who might've told you that?"

The King's gaze sharpened at the tone, a spark of tension brewing between the men for an instant, before he simply rolled his shoulders. "I don't really find that to be important, just now." He said calmly, though Ganondorf could easily tell that a name would not be made his business. "What I find much more pressing is ascertaining the truth of the accusation."

Gritting his teeth to ward off a sigh, the Gerudo's hand instead rose to rub lightly at his temple. "Your Majesty, Begging your pardon, but this is making you seem terribly gullible." He said slowly, slightly amused by the indignation that flashed upon the sovereign's face. "…If it is not too bold to say."

"Gullible…?" The King spluttered, glaring at the man. "…Yes, Sheik, I would indeed say that is too bold!" He spat, his cheeks puffing slightly as his eyes narrowed.

Ganondorf held up a hand, as if to silence him. "Of course, Your Majesty, for I know that you are not such a fool." His voice was calm. "However, obviously, whoever told you such a thing does think so."

The Gerudo could see the Sovereign's muscles twitching beneath his skin anxiously, as tiny, fleeting expressions tugged at the man's defined features. Finally, it seemed Ganondorf's words hit the nerve he intended, when the King's head inclined slightly.

"Sheik, I have the utmost faith in the capability of your line in guarding my daughter's welfare. No man could persuade me differently." He said firmly, as if confirming that he was most definitely not a fool in the least. Taking a long breath, his eyes lingering upon the eye symbol Ganondorf wore, he continued with a softer tone. "It is merely the same reaction any father might have, were another man to sit his daughter upon their lap and hold her."

Crossing his arms over his broad chest, the Gerudo nodded lightly, seemingly empathizing. "Of course, Sire. I would never allow such impropriety to befall Her Highness…" He allowed a thoughtful look to cross his face, glancing toward the King in a divulging manner. "I did, however, comfort her when she was in need of such attention. I'm afraid my mention of the Elder's passing drew up memories of her dear Mother, and she… well…" His crimson gaze was cast downward, as if feeling guilty. "I had upset her with the topic. I merely gave her a hug, Sire, as per her request."

Ganondorf didn't miss the twinkle of pain that flickered within the King's eyes. _A tender spot for the both of them,_ he thought with intrigue, _I shall remember that._ He would have to find out more about the events surrounding the Late Queen's death, and what exactly had occurred between Zelda and her father… It may prove very useful in the future.

The sovereign shifted some, clearing his throat has his hands retreated behind his back in a military fashion. "I see." He murmured, his cool blue eyes tracing the patterns in the floor. "Very well… This is acceptable, Sheik. Though, you would do well to avoid talking of death where you can, in future." His head tilted up, chin jutting toward the Gerudo. "I realize that it is a close and often discussed thing among your clan, though I do fear for the effect such a subject may have upon my daughter." He smiled some, though it was mingled with a grimace.

Chuckling, Ganondorf simply nodded, allowing his arms to return to his sides. "As you wish, Sire." The King turned then, and he was dismissed with a curt nod as the other man returned to inspecting the paperwork. Ganondorf quickly followed suit, leaving silently until the creak of the doors as they closed, deeply thankful for the lack of formality the King allowed him. He wasn't sure he could stomach bowing to another Hylian again.

Meanwhile, far from the tense and brief interactions between her father and her new attendant, Zelda quite happily sat upon a marble bench in the eastern gardens. Humming quietly to herself, gloved fingers traced the patterns in her dress as the sun shone down warm upon her. It was delightful.

It felt like a while since she'd visited the gardens, though really, it hadn't been more than a week. The air smelt like the roses nearby, and drawing deep of it, her crystalline eyes flicked up to capture the image as well. Not a one was out of place within the mighty bushes, crawling up the stone wall behind them to dot the dark stone with bursts of crimson. The Princess smiled, leaning back to place her hands upon the sun-warmed marble. _I don't know why I cannot just sit here and take my studies,_ she thought lazily, _It's so much nicer than the library or the drawing rooms._

Kicking off her shoes, the pumps were carelessly tossed upon the grass, with a giggle. She knew it was a pet peeve of her Father's for her to be bare foot, but she didn't care. Feeling the grass tickle her toes as they dangled just above the ground was worth any scolding. _And besides,_ she thought with humour, _I'm already going without desserts, so what is there to lose?_

She stretched wide, holding her arms high. It would've been even better if she could be rid of the dress too, in exchange for the frock she'd taken from the servant's quarters. Her formal wear was stiff and restricting, and she could not run in the pink and white skirts of this dress. The ornamental shoulder plates annoyed her, feeling heavy on her shoulders, and inlaid golden trinkets making up a belt dug into her hips if lay down. Picking at the pink overlay about her chest with a grimace, she wondered how necessary it was that her dresses had so many layers.

That was when she saw it.

Fluttering close, like a feather in the breeze to land upon a delicate rose, a beautiful swallowtail butterfly caught her gaze. Her eyes widened slightly in awe, as she studied it. It was magnificent. The patterns on its wings seemed so exotic, like they were made of the finest silks… Her fingers fidgeted eagerly as she bit her lip. She wanted to touch it, catch it, keep it for herself. Peering around to check if she was alone, her smile brightened as twitching fingers worked to peel the soft gloves away. Laying them down on the bench beside her, the young Princess slid silently onto all fours, holding up her skirts in a clumsy bunch.

Like a tiger overtaking its prey, she crept, stalking slowly toward the enrapturing insect. Her toes dug into the grass and dirt, as did her bare fingers, clear crystalline gaze trained solely on the butterfly as she reached the edges of the rosebush. Standing slowly from her crouched position, restraining her arm's need to reach out immediately, Zelda's gleeful smile faded with a loud and nasal voice.

"What do you think you're doing, Your Highness!"

Zelda flinched, gasping as her head craned toward the source with panic, her hair catching upon a branch and sending the swallowtail fluttering away to other prairies. She sighed, her face souring some as the beautiful creature eluded her, and turned furrowed brows toward the Captain with distaste.

"Do you mind? I am trying to enjoy some peace within the gardens, Captain, which you've unfortunately got a bad habit of spoiling."

Peering at the haughty man as he scoffed though, Zelda noticed something amiss since she'd seen him last. "…What in Goddesses' name happened to your lip?" She blinked, suppressing the urge to giggle as she hid her smirk behind her hand.

The Captain seemed to fluster some at her reaction, his shoulders stiffening as his chin withdrew almost comically. "If you must know, Your Highness, I am growing out a moustache." He growled defensively.

The Princess stared at him, her cheeks warm with unvoiced laughter, as her body rocked with the force of holding it within her chest. "It looks ridiculous." She said quickly, her tone rising toward the end.

Talleday huffed quietly, his jaw set as his fingers rapped impatiently upon the hilt of his sword. "Yes, well, it isn't finished yet…" He muttered, before tilting his nose upward. "In any case, it doesn't look nearly as ridiculous as you. Chasing down butterflies like a toddler, look at the state of you!" He chastised high-handedly, his green gaze flicking over the girl for good measure.

Her laughter was immediately cut short as a glare replaced it. _How dare he,_ She thought indignantly, her hands balling into fists. Zelda knew he was right, and that her Father wouldn't approve of her behaviour, but she'd be damned if a mere Captain forgot himself and looked at her like that.

"My gloves are set aside, and not a single grass stain lines my attire. Speak to me like that again, Talleday, and I'll see to it that you're swiftly replaced by a man with respect enough to hold his tongue until his opinion is asked!" She hissed sharply.

Though his eyes narrowed slightly, he knew he couldn't have the argument he wished to with the girl. She couldn't be told on the best of days, and above that, nobody was allowed to tell her. Gritting his teeth, his lip curled some when he spoke. "My apologies, Your Highness." He said stiffly. "But the point remains that, attire aside, your behaviour would be nothing short of a disappointment in your Fathers eyes. Be thankful that I let it slide, this time, as you are, thankfully, alone." He turned upon his heel then, stalking away with that stilted, prideful gait. Over his shoulder, he called lowly. "But I will not next time. And don't go looking for comfort in your new attendant, because judging by your father's expression when I told him of your last impropriety, he won't be around long."

_Oooh, the audacity of that man! _Her mind buzzed with fury as she watched him leave, _That's it! As soon as I find an excuse to be rid of him, he's as good as banished!_ Her tiny fists shook at her sides. _How in the world did he find out about that anyway? It was just a hug, I was distraught!_ Fuming though she was, she sighed sadly.

"…Doubtless, he's made it sound as if Sheik is overly affectionate with me…" She muttered to herself sullenly.

Flopping down upon the grass, forgetting the previous care of her clothes, she sat slumped, her chin cradled in her hands. She and the Captain had always had a terse relationship. Though Zelda knew that, at heart, there was something truly noble within the Captain, now that he was passing his prime, he had begun to take his frustrations out on others too readily. When she was a child, though he'd always been rigid and a bit self righteous, he had been much kinder, even going so far as to sneak her out of her lessons to join her mother in the gardens for a stroll. He'd waltz in, declare some official business with great fanfare, and sweep her urgently away only to deliver her—with a smile—to the Queen. _But then,_ she thought sadly, _Talleday knew she would soon grow too sick to be out of bed… I got to spend more time with her than I would have otherwise, thanks to him._

She sighed as the remnants of her rage quickly dissipated. No, it didn't matter how old and grumpy Talleday got, she knew he had always held her best interests at heart. It was plainly obvious that his dislike of Sheik was simply his overprotective nature and fondness for her acting up. _That, and he's probably a bit threatened,_ she thought with a small smile, _After all, he was long heralded as one of the best fighters in the land, but I would bet he'd be hard pressed to win against the skill of a Shiekah._

Picking at the grass boredly, she tilted her head with a grimace, grudgingly forgiving the Captain once again internally. "I just wish he was more pleasant about it…" She muttered to herself, turning her gaze to the sky.

"You're not the only one." A deep voice called from high behind her.

Turning her head, she caught sight of the disguised Gerudo, standing atop the stone wall with a smirk, arms crossed.

She grinned brightly. "Sheik! Where have you been? I was looking for you." She called happily, as the man jumped down to land on one foot, before setting his weight evenly upon the other.

"Just sorting a misunderstanding out with your Father… It appears somebody's out to get me." He said humorously, turning his eyes in the direction Talleday had stalked off to. "…Of course, I'm not surprised to hear who…" He growled softly, his brows furrowing.

Behind the calm demeanor though, Ganondorf was furious. The Captain may not have realized his folly in confessing to the child, but with the Gerudo's ears catching it as well, an insatiable bloodlust began to brew for the pompous soldier. Beyond all practical reasons to be rid of him, Ganondorf knew he'd enjoy the kill far more than he should, and it didn't look as if the Captain would be terribly missed.

Zelda grimaced lightly, nodding some. "Yes, I am a bit sore about that…" She admitted, releasing the tuft of grass as her crystalline gaze peered up at him. "He means well, but sometimes I think he's taken a strike to the helmet one to many times." She giggled softly.

Ganondorf looked down upon her, forcing a small smile. "Perhaps." He agreed, holding out a large hand to help her up. "But, now, you have arithmetic to be learning."

Zelda pouted childishly, taking the hand as she picked herself up with a sigh. "Must I? I can do sums out here as well…" She whined.

The Gerudo chuckled, nodding. "I'm sure you can, but your tutor is much older, and obviously isn't aware of the changing times with doing mathematics in gardens." He grinned wolfishly, placing a hand on her back to usher her along. "Off you go, now."

The Princess collected her gloves from the bench, tugging them onto her arms as she flashed him a cheeky smile over her shoulder, suddenly taking off in a bolting dash. "Fine, but I am going to arrive barefoot so that you'll be reprimanded in revenge for making me go!" She called, leaving her shoes untouched upon the grass.

Ganondorf cocked a brow, blinking, before turning his head to see the pumps upon the ground. He sighed, waving a hand negligently and taking a step away. Then he stopped, getting an idea that made him grin.

Down the way, the young Princess ran, laughing, through the hedge maze to round and turn down an entrance hall, with the large doors wide open, with all haste. Her feet struck the stone loudly as she held her dress high—Anyone she past in the garden had gasped at the sight of her bloomers. She cackled joyfully as her shadow danced among the colours cast by the stained glass as the sunlight bounced about the chamber, peering over her shoulder to see if Sheik was giving chase.

Suddenly, the chamber was filled with a bright flash, causing her to shriek playfully and come skidding to a sudden halt. Blinking behind raised forearms, slightly dazed, something grabbed her leg and hoisted her quite unceremoniously upward. She squealed, struggling and giggling wildly as her arms flailed. "No! Put me down!" She laughed.

The world spun, the colours whirling about her vision like a kaleidoscope, until she was set down dizzily. Sheik's voice echoed from behind her with a chuckle, "You can't outrun your shadow, Zelda." Before another flash swept her vision, causing her to flinch.

Blinking, she peered down at her feet. Shoes.

"Damn." She grinned, laughing as she twiddled her toes in them. "I have to learn how he does that…" With a twirl she turned, quite happily padding off toward her lessons for the first time in a while.

**This was just plain old good fun to write.**

**Douchey moustache for Talleday granted, and I thought I'd let it be shown that he isn't just a dick for the sake of being a dick. A little bit of character expansion for him…**

**Not that he'll last much longer. **

**Next chapter will be the longest so far I think. A lot is gonna happen, and some main plottage will occur. Wheee!**


	5. Nightmare

They skies were clouded and grey, with the faint stirring of thunder in the distance, rolling down the northern mountains to echo across the land. A few weeks had passed without further event and Ganondorf had used this time effectively, gathering a good amount of information on the Shiekah and—Through the constant river of gossip flowing through the castle—Had also managed to map Talleday's routine. He'd picked up a few things here and there of the late Queen, though nothing of note. His feverous studies of his faux race were now formidable, however, so this was an acceptable progression in the Gerudo's mind.

Using the knowledge he'd garnered of the Captain's daily whereabouts, Ganondorf was currently stalking the man, using the skills of his impersonated race to full advantage where he could. While the Princess took her lessons, he shadowed Talleday; running atop eaves during the morning while the Captain trained with the other men, creeping within the shadows of the halls behind him when the arrogant soldier patrolled the lower floors of the castle. Now, finally, it seemed that Talleday was headed to take a meal, and the murderous Gerudo saw his potential opportunity to strike.

Dim daylight petered in from the high arched windows in the hall, as the Gerudo and his target neared the kitchens. Leaning into the wall, crimson eyes sharply trained upon the soldier, Ganondorf watched as he perused the walkway, idly taking his time. Close to their position was a small side passage used by servants, and knowing they would be busy preparing meals for the guards, such a narrow and confined space would be highly appropriate for the kill.

The Gerudo's fingers twitched, his form cloaked by shadow and giving him an ethereal ability to blend with his surroundings, becoming inconspicuous. An extra charm to the spell would have any who noticed him immediately forget his presence, and move on as if never having saw him at all—He was growing quite fond of it. In fact, he had picked up quite a few handy tricks from the Shiekah, since gaining access to the libraries. A methodical and dynamic mind quickly allowed him to learn and adapt the techniques written in books, and use his own knowledge of magics to execute or replicate them effectively.

_Just a bit closer, _he thought, watching the soldier intently, _I can simply snap his neck and be done with him._ The Gerudo's mind brewed with a thousand different scenarios that could play out, and how to counter them. But the longer he watched the Captain—Who was at present inspecting his new moustache in the polished armour of one of the hollow suits—the more he settled for an accidental approach. Due to their tempers, he and the Captain's dislike of one another wasn't exactly a little known fact, and if he wasn't careful, the mode of the kill could easily incriminate him.

Overhearing the man talk about how his new facial hair 'perhaps needed more wax' was enough to tip Ganondorf's rage into visible proportions. Talleday was quite possibly the epitome of everything the Gerudo despised of the upper class, and were he noticeable, many a man would have turned tail and fled from the trembling, sneering Shiekah with wild crimson eyes. He instinctively twitched when he saw movement within the hall.

Struggling with a heavy looking crate of milk bottles, a young Hylian boy came stumbling in from the narrow passage, the weight clearly overcoming the child as he toppled toward Talleday. The Gerudo could have punched a hole clear through the stone wall in frustration, but even more so at the scene that unfolded. Though the boy was trying to angle his body and regain leverage, hoping desperately to outdo the laws of physics, it was sadly not to be. Finally, he lost his footing as the crate slid painfully from his grasp, wood splintering with a heavy crack as glass shattered. Milk rushed like a tidal wave out across the carpeted floor, sloshing against the wall and soaking the Captain's boots as he gave an indignant yell.

"What in Nayru's name!" He cursed loudly, picking a boot from the floor and staring at it for a moment, before his eyes widened at the state of the hall and the milk. He growled, stomping the sodden foot down with fury as a sharp green glare turned quickly to the panicking boy.

"You'll pay for that, you clumsy little urchin! Look at what your carelessness has caused!" Talleday growled, absolutely livid as his breath came in rolling, snarling snorts from flared nostrils. His upturned moustache even twitched, adding to the chaos upon his face.

The boy peered up at the Captain at a loss for what to say or do, as he held his hands up in surrender. "Sorry! I didn't mean to, it was really heavy, and…"

"You'd better have a resolution to this, lad, or so help me, I'll have you whipped in the square!" Talleday threatened, posturing some as his shoulders squared.

But, within the shadow of the next hall, Ganondorf's eyes were wide with both concern and intrigue as, for the moment, his homicidal mission was set aside. He knew that boy all to well.

He was dressed in a pair of dusty overalls, with a white cotton shirt beneath. Short sleeves were lined with a blue, angular pattern, common among the ranching families. The left knee had a tear in the fabric, and the cuffs were rolled high over his boots as it seemed the clothes were handed down and slightly too large. Pointed ears jutted out from behind blonde bangs, strong blue eyes beneath as the prominent feature of a youthful, though somewhat delicate, face. A single smear of dirt lined his cheek, and shaggy, lengthier hair was tied back shortly.

Link.

_Oh, you can't be serious,_ the Gerudo thought, his face falling to meet a gloved palm with a slight groan.

Still, he was not the King of Evil presently. Settling a weary gaze upon the boy through his fingertips, Ganondorf decided to investigate this potential threat. The Captain could wait.

Link's blue eyes widened at the soldier's threat, shaking his head and taking a step back. "What? No! I didn't… Please don't…!" He stammered, suddenly very nervous.

Both the Captain and the boy's eyes turned toward the faint echo of a step, as from the other hall stepped the Shiekah, who paused, looking amused and surprised at the scene. Crimson irises turned to Talleday, with a smirk and one brow aloft.

"…Crying over spilt milk, Captain?"

Wrinkling his nose at the attendant's appearance, the Captain shot the disguised Gerudo a withering look. "Not that it is any business of yours, Sheik, but this order was already an hour overdue, and now it seeps uselessly into the carpet." He gestured a hand negligently toward the floor, glancing side long at the boy.

Link's eyes flickered between the two vastly opposed men, opting to remain cautiously quiet. _Weird,_ he thought idly, _That one looks scary, but the guard is the one having a fit._ He blinked a few times, lazy fingers scratching at his leg through baggy fabric.

Ganondorf simply rolled his eyes, shaking his head lightly. He bent down, feeling the saturated carpet and plucking up a piece of broken bottle, inspecting it with a grimace. Addressing the boy, he spoke. "Is there another crate to replace this one?"

The boy stared at him for a moment, seemingly spacing out some before responding slowly. "I… Don't know… Maybe…?" Link's eyes rose upward in thought. "Uncle says the castle is priority, so… We could always take a crate off another order…" He admitted quietly, a bit unsure of himself. With a flash of panic, he suddenly added, "Sir!" His body jerking with the force of which it was said.

With a chuckle, the Gerudo's attention turned back to the fuming Captain, whose hand tightly gripped the hilt of his sword. "There you go, Captain. Resolved without a whipping, isn't that something?" He said smugly. _…Though, it's probably the only thing we could agree on…_

Talleday withdrew a sharp breath through his nose, before clicking his tongue venomously. "Yes, little wonders." He spat, glaring toward the boy, who seemed less unnerved by the gaze and more like he felt terribly awkward. "I trust you will help see that this rather egregious problem is righted, Sheik, being that you are so gifted with children." He wiggled his moustache proudly turning on his heel to stalk away with sodden steps.

He called loudly as he did so. "Perhaps you can also persuade the lad to be less tardy, without the aid of a whip, while you're at it." A scoff followed, before he swiftly turned down another corridor.

A tense silence fell as the Captain left, the Gerudo's fingers twitching as his teeth ground together with thinly veiled hatred, and Link holding a scolded and confused look as his weight shifted from foot to foot.

The two looked at each other expectantly, staring for a bit longer than is usual. There was a strange familiarity that neither really felt comfortable with, in that moment.

"Sooo…" Link mused, breaking the silence as his gaze traced his left. "Uh… D'you think we should… Go do the… thing…?" He rocked on his feet slowly, peering up at the odd coloured man with raised brows. "…Sir…"

Ganondorf tensed some, still adjusting to hearing the voice again, though covered his unease by crossing his arms across his chest with a slight shrug. With a grunt, his gaze quickly assessed that damage to the carpet. "…Yes. I'll leave the mess for the Captain…" He rumbled, smirking some. "He never did say anything about cleaning up, so I will just assume he is responsible for that part." Turning, he beckoned the boy with a flick of his fingers.

Link's face twisted with some confusion, staring blankly as the gesture seemed lost on him, before a streak of comprehension shot him forward to follow with clumsy steps.

Walking in silence for a good while, Ganondorf was able to note the boy's reactions and infer what kind of life he held. The sparkle of curious awe in Link's eyes as they traveled through the grand castle, unrestricted gawking even continuing under the stares and judgmental glares of others, told the Gerudo quickly that the boy was not unlike his predecessors. This Link's mind was explorative and keen, and while he obviously had humble beginnings—His attire spoke volumes to that—there was no jealousy or want in his gaze. His skin held a light tan, and his development had been spurred early with thin muscle lining his arms in the place of childish fat. He was skinny and lithe, toned and clearly well-worked; accustomed to labor and long hours under the sun. Though he seemed clumsy and somewhat uncoordinated, Ganondorf noted that this trait seemed to stem from the second hand boots he wore, around two sizes too big for the lad.

_Damn,_ he cursed mentally, _Even this child already has the potential to be a skilled fighter._ With mentoring, and even—Gods forbid—the muscle memory of his previous incarnation, the boy would quickly come into untapped talents with a sword. It was obvious that he'd been working with farming tools, for the muscle on his build, and likely already knew how to ride. To even lift the crate in the first place put him at a solid strength for his age, regardless of the fact that he had dropped it.

Idly, his fingers caressed the sliver of glass he had picked up, holding it at his side as he realized how innocuous the act had been. This boy didn't even seem to register the fact that he held, what could easily be, a lethal weapon. With this notion toying amongst the shadows at the back of his mind, Ganondorf broke the silence as they came to the main entrance hall, walking toward the dim light of day.

"You look awfully young to be a delivery boy." He mused, lifting a brow at the child.

Link blinked distractedly, his mind visibly processing that he was spoken to in an almost mechanic manner. "Uh… I guess…" He started lamely, with a shrug. Sensing that the white haired man wanted more information, a hand rose to scratch at his nose while he thought about what else to say. "…Uncle's back isn't real great anymore, so I'm learning the route and how to do the orders. I'm almost twelve, now, you know. Me and Malinna'll have to do it by ourselves pretty soon, anyway, when I'm a man."

The Gerudo gave a silent 'ah' in comprehension, his eyes narrowing against the shift in light as the two crossed the threshold to the outside world. "Your uncle, you say?" He questioned curiously. "You aren't the rancher's son?"

Link shook his head, his arms rising to lock behind his head lazily as he walked. "Nah. My folks died when I was little, so I got taken in by Uncle Tarron." He said off-handedly. His curious eyes peered up at the disguised Gerudo with a distinctly suspicious look. "…Don't I know you from somewhere? …Sir?"

Ganondorf had to glance away from the boy briefly to hide the mortified expression that swept his harsh features. "Perhaps…" He muttered, before composing himself enough to look ahead. "I caused quite a commotion on the day of the festival. It wouldn't surprise me if that is why." He lied. Though the child might not have the clarity of memory he possessed as the same man, the Gerudo could guess that Link would've recognized him as a threat in some respect were he not disguised.

The boy looked thoughtful for a moment, causing a flicker of concern to pulse in the supposed Shiekah's chest, before a wry grin appeared on his face. "Oh, yeah, you're that Cheetah guy who saved Princess Zelda!" He chimed naively, laughing some as he made claw like gestures with his hands. "From the scary horse, right?"

Blinking, the Gerudo stared at him with some disbelief. "…'Cheetah guy'?" He hissed, offended, though he couldn't for the life of him guess why.

Link's face blanked, as he realized he had made an error. "…Sorry, uh… Sheepha."

"Shiekah." Ganondorf growled.

"Yeah, that one." Link grinned.

A heavy sigh escaped him with a heaving breath, as he shook his head, glancing at the boy. He recognized him from a past life, and yet, had no clue as to what a Shiekah was? _Perhaps he's not as capable as I thought._

Link, on the other hand, had begun steeping to avoid the cracks in the cobblestone as it wore thin, the long dirt road heralding the delivery cart nearby a large tree. "What was your name again?" He asked, though Ganondorf highly doubted the boy would remember it.

"Sheik." He spat impatiently, unimpressed with lack of reputation he apparently held.

Coming to a stop by the cart, which looked to have once been a caravan of sorts before it was altered, the boy eagerly climbed up the wheel, grabbing onto the ropes. He paused, sending Ganondorf a look that made him want to twitch. "Sheik?" Link asked, eyes wide.

The Gerudo's heart skipped a beat as he considered the boy's memories may have kicked in, until Link simply laughed.

"That's a bit unoriginal, isn't it? Sheik, of the Shiekah? Really?" He cackled, hanging precariously from the rope with a sway.

Ganondorf growled dangerously toward the boy, though Link simply waved a hand dismissively as he unfastened another crate. Still snickering to himself, the boy shifted a barrel, holding a bundle of egg cartons as he pushed the crate forward. "There you go." He grinned, blue eyes shimmering cheekily as he slapped the wood and caused the bottles to chink.

He than sat on the edge of the cart, his loose boots dangling lazily as he sat the eggs down beside him. "I ain't carrying it again in case I drop it. So, you're a big Hero, you can take it." He jibed, leaning against the barrel.

The Gerudo snorted derisively, sending the boy a dark look. "I'm beginning to think a whipping would do you good, boy." He growled, settling a hand upon the crate reluctantly.

"Link." The boy yawned, lifting a leg to shift with his back against the barrel, causing it to teeter dangerously. "And, I'm just teasing… If I ain't here when Uncle gets back he'll be right cross…" Link grimaced, before narrowing his eyes at the Shiekah, holding a hand to cup his mouth secretly. "…And I'd really like to play this off like I didn't drop a full crate, and that you guys wanted extra for some royal… thing."

Ganondorf eyed the boy for a moment, before hefting the crate into his arms with ease. Link cocked a brow, getting ready to make a remark when the change in weight allowed the cart to tip. The barrel the boy had been leaning against promptly toppled behind him, as he waved his arms to catch a rope at the last second and save himself, the barrel shattering with a splintered burst upon the dirt to scatter hay about—And oddly enough, free a cucco.

An awkward silence passed between them as they exchanged glances, watching the frightened bird flap about and take off in a flurry of feathers, squawking with some distress. With a sigh, Link ran his fingers through his bangs, looking utterly defeated.

Ganondorf smirked, holding in a cruel laugh. "…Good luck with that." He sniped, holding the crate over his shoulder as his free arm seemed to swing toward the ground rapidly.

A bright flash startled both the cucco and the boy, as the disguised Gerudo vanished without a trace, the burst of light causing Link to release the rope in shock to fall off of the cart as well. With a yelp, his top half was quickly buried within the hay and remnants of the barrel, leg caught up in the loosened rope from the crate. "HEY!" He yelled in vain, struggling to poke his head out, coughing and spitting bits of hay. Glancing around, the boy realized the Shiekah was gone, and turning his confused gaze toward the cucco, he sighed.

"…Here…Cucco Cucco…"

Unbeknownst to the child, helplessly trying to catch the wayward bird, already an idea was forming within the Gerudo's mind to be rid of both the Captain and, quite possibly, any future 'Hero'.

With the milk being safely delivered, and a long chain of reprimanding over the ruined carpet and mess in the hall—That, humorously enough, did indeed get traced back to the Captain—The day seemed to draw to a close quickly thereafter. The storm clouds upon the horizon swiftly came to cover the land, and within the small hours of normalcy, night crawled across the heavens behind the grey veil. Starless darkness coated every inch of the realm, eerie and foreboding with the dread of monsters, crawling underneath the beds of every child.

Zelda was one such child. Little did she realize, the King of monsters sat upon her windowsill, comforting her against the dark premonitions that flashed across the edges of her mind. Curled within silken sheets, sitting upright with her legs tucked close, she sat unwilling to sleep.

"Zelda, please, it is already two hours past your curfew." Ganondorf pleaded with her tiredly, rubbing his temple as he stared out at the dreary skies, eager to act upon his plans. His broad back sat flush against the stone marking the edge of the alcove, impatience evident in the subtle twitches of his muscles. He couldn't hide such tics within the skin tight suit, and it annoyed him even further.

The young Princess shook her head, distance in her crystalline eyes as they fixated upon her fidgeting fingers. "No." she said softly, delicate brows furrowed. "I don't want to have them."

The Gerudo sighed, bumping the back of his head purposely upon the stone. "They're just nightmares. Everyone has them." He muttered.

Zelda shot him an icy glare, her eyes becoming clear. "Don't give me false comfort when you know just as well as I what they are." She hissed grumpily, her fingers sweeping locks of hair behind her ears quickly before her hands dropped heavily upon the sheets. Her lips twitched, as if working out what to say, when she looked at him and just stared for a moment. "…You're supposed to be the one person who knows what they are. Who can tell me what I see and feel is real and not something so… trivial, as a child's nightmare."

Memories always stirred when she looked at him; spoke to him, like that. He knew she could sense his intent, and her slumber would suffer, plagued by cryptic visions and symbols. The child's ability to see the unseen had always fascinated him, and he did know something of the old Shiekah, from long ago, that wouldn't be found in any book. It had been locked away within riddles and enigmas, lost to whispers as time took its toll. But during the unification of Hyrule, he had learned many dark secrets and weaknesses held in by the other races… Histories, bloody and uncensored, had been given for exploitation. It was one of the things that had allowed him to strike them so heavily for refusing him the spiritual stones.

Releasing a long breath, Ganondorf stirred, shifting to stand slowly. His white hair seemed a dimmed grey in the night's embrace, his eyes shining like fresh blood, as he took a weary step toward the bed, hovering at its side as a look of reflection took hold of his harsh features, softening them. The light of the fire flickered softly, casting shadows upon the two of them, as tentatively, the Gerudo sat upon the bedside.

The Princess seemed somewhat surprised by the move, but ultimately, she was glad for his proximity. Staring into his eyes filled the gaps within her spirit, somehow, as if just his presence could stir the beginnings of destiny. Her hand shifted, as if wanting to reach out to him, though her fingers only managed to curl across the silk. Zelda's ears twitched with expectancy, eager to hear whatever was coming. She'd never had anybody else to guide her or listen to her, when it came to the dreams. Her father didn't understand how someone could perceive the future, and fundamentally, never came to accept any she told him about as having real implications. Her mother hadn't experienced them as Zelda had, though tried her best to be understanding and supportive.

It was something the Princess had always been alone in, and now that there was another, every fiber of her being screamed out to connect to him, share with him, and let her innermost fears and blessings be confirmed as more than imagination.

Closing those raw, crimson eyes for a moment, Ganondorf's voice came low and rich, a chilling whisper warm only to those who wanted to hear it. "They aren't nightmares…"

Only a moment passed, as Zelda felt a wave of closure wash over her in only those words. She could do nothing but listen as he continued.

"Long ago, Hyrule was torn into a fierce war. All were out for blood, betraying any who would stand in their way, every man on this earth searching out the Sacred Realm."

His eyes opened slightly, a distant remembrance in them that couldn't be placed. "Among the bloodshed, from the shadows, interlopers who excelled at dark magic appeared…"

The Princess' ears twitched lightly in the dim flicker, shadows dancing about her serene features. "I know this story…" She whispered, "The God's sealed them away, along with their power."

Ganondorf nodded solemnly. "But, Princess, there is far more to that tale than most would have you believe."

"Long ago, there was a dark tribe who used masks to aid their hexing rituals. They mastered manipulative magics, learning to craft and wield the elements of humanity, against it. Their numbers were great, and they were well known and feared for their abilities. Some believed they could command death itself… Others, that they were born of it, rising from the ashes of grief and sorrow like a phoenix."

"This tribe, despite these rumours, could actually place their origin with the First Darkness, and much of their knowledge and power stemmed from one thing. The Demon Lord, Ghirahim."

Zelda blinked, her crystalline gaze wavering upon him. "…Ghirahim…?"

The Gerudo swallowed lightly, his eyes tracing the patterns in the sheets. "Yes. He was the first plague to visit Hyrule… And the first to introduce evil to the planes, from the underworld; The negative plane that resulted of the world's creation by the hands of the Goddesses. Where there is light, there must also be shadow. It was from his influence that the tribe adapted their abilities and ideals."

"However, when this tribe turned its lust for death and control upon the humanity within itself, those people swiftly faced their own destruction. Factions of that tribe broke apart, segregated in disagreement over the original beliefs of their people. One faction remained within Hyrule's borders."

The Princess nodded slowly, understanding. "…And they became the Shiekah…" She whispered, her brows furrowing some. "…But, then… how does that… apply to my dreams?" She questioned, staring up at him with pleading eyes.

Ganondorf smiled lightly, his hand reaching out to brush a stray wisp of gold from her forehead, his fingers tracing her jaw. "…Unfortunately, Zelda, they hadn't quite finished dividing."

"The Shiekah people knew of their counterparts, derived from the Goddesses' light in creation, the Hylians. Long have you referred to the Shiekah as the shadows of your people, though few know this as a reality, in the purest sense. Due to their abilities to see the unseen, the Shiekah foresaw the role the Hylians would have in the future of the world, and swore to aid them… Protect them. A strong alliance was forged."

"But when all the races stood upon the precipice of their futures, the whispers of the Shiekah and the naivety of the Hylian ears that heard them soon let the precious secrets of the Sacred Realm, and the gift the Goddesses left to their children within, spread. Soon, all of Hyrule was engulfed in a war unlike any before it, or after. Within the proud Shiekah clan, those who let their arrogance guide them felt that the Hylians had brought the war upon themselves, and abandoned their service to the Royal family, seeking the Holy Trinity for themselves."

"Using the ancient magics of the parental clan, they were soon corrupted by the magics once again, and using that same magic to attempt entrance into the Sacred Realm, they found, with horror, that the Gods only allowed them passage into a hell of their own making, caught between shadow and light, unable to truly pass into either."

Ganondorf glanced down then, holding out the fabric upon his chest to show the Shiekan eye to the child. "In remembrance of that betrayal, a tear was added to this symbol by those Shiekah who remained loyal to the Gods and the Hylians… The three marks above the eye became triangles, as a constant reminder of the Gods to those mortals who would think themselves mighty, that only Din, Farore and Nayru hold true power."

Glancing at the young child, he noticed the look of clarity in her eyes. He was fueling memories of a time long past, and though he knew it was dangerous, the Gerudo almost longed for recognition. Her slender fingers grazed the light fabric, tracing the red symbol with a flicker of comprehension that was absent before.

"Three artifacts were created to aid those without Shiekan blood in seeing the unseen, and beholding untainted truth. But in penance for their brother's crimes, the Shiekah who remained loyal gave their blood to the royal family."

He chuckled darkly. "Quite literally, in fact…" A wry smile wormed its way onto his shadowed features, as he marveled upon the child. There was something exquisite of her that he had never placed within their history, but now, he was beginning to understand.

The Princess knew exactly what he had meant. "…They gave a share of their abilities to my family. The Hylian Royal family has Shiekan blood running through their veins." She whispered more to herself than anything else. It made sense to her somehow—More than anything else she'd ever been told. At the fringes of her mind, there were times where she felt she could almost reach out and touch it; the truth of the Shadow in her blood, the Shiekah within her, filling out her being and balancing her Hylian spirit.

The Gerudo knew that would play a vital role in his intentions for her; it was that counterpoint of darkness within her, the ability to understand all the evil and good of the world that made her so interesting to him. She'd always had the capability for it, and he'd seen light and darkness waver within her before, but light would always intervene to sweep the Princess' away from the taint. Somehow, the scale of balance that was Zelda always managed to tip towards the Hero's favor in the past.

_Not this time,_ he thought, his hands moving to settle her and drape the sheets about her shoulders, _This time, she is mine._

Zelda shifted comfortably, allowing herself to be tucked in as finally, he hand found the courage to reach for him, curling about his wrist lightly. She smiled some, genuine gratitude and respect shimmering in her fire-lit gaze. "Thank you… Sheik…" she murmured, her hair fanning beneath her as her head settled into the pillow.

Ganondorf felt the strange emptiness when her fingers brushed his thick skin, like their dormant pieces were reaching out to join once again, though didn't hold the power necessary to be reunited. With a tired blink, his eyes traced her delicate features. "They might seem like nightmares, but don't turn away from them, just because they show the darkness of the world. Within the dark, many things lay hidden, waiting to be found." He smiled weakly, shifting to rise once more.

The Princess nodded, an arm snaking up to hold her pillow. "…You promised to guard even my dreams." She said with a question in her eyes.

"I can only do so if you have dreams, Zelda." He said with a light smirk, the humorous tang to his voice signaling that it was high time she caught some sleep.

Slipping away, the disguised Gerudo seemed to vanish into the shadows themselves, as Zelda's concerns slowly faded into heavy eyelids and even breaths. The last hesitance was banished though, when her lullaby—Played by the same low whistle as the day Sheik came—lilted softly on the air and drew her spiraling down into the world of dreams without further protest.

And the Princess slept soundly for the rest of the night, no longer fearing the disturbing whispers that graced her mind, or the visions of blood trickling upon the cobblestone.

Into the night, the false Shiekah slipped, silent and deadly as the assassins he impersonated. Within the backstreets of castle town, hidden amongst the stone walls and shadows, Telma's Bar held an inviting glow that seeped through the cracks from behind the door. Many a soldier gathered there, and Talleday, having had a particularly trying day, was no exception, seeking solace at the bottom of a bottle.

No more than an hours wait after midnight had passed, the Captain emerged from the drunken sanctuary, steps heavy with drowned frustrations. His horse was tethered to a nearby post, though in the skewed darkness—The rumble of thunder deafening any distant sound—Talleday was hard pressed to remember where exactly that post was.

From the corner of an alley, illuminated only for a second against the streak of lightning that seared down to kiss the earth, a pair of crimson eyes watched the Captain stumble, lost in the darkness and disoriented by liquor.

Talleday held no chance against the silent, swift steps of a killer on these bloodshot streets, his breath stolen to the clean slice of glass across his throat. The roar of thunder rumbled strong against the windows of the town, though none would wake to it as the Captain collapsed limply onto the bleak cobblestone, never to wake again. Rivulets of blood washed across the ground, black against the moonless night's storm, as it seeped into the cracks. The light tinkle of glass rang out into the thick air, nothing but the fogged roll of a breath left behind of the Gerudo to be seen, as rain began to fall heavy and sorrowful for the Captain's fate.

Blood ran with water to mingle and be washed aside, worthless, with only the still warm corpse and the broken sliver of a milk bottle—A torn label clearly giving the name of Lonlon—to be found.

…**At least he grew out that moustache. **

**And, this is sort of AU between OoT and TP for the locations. **

**Also, descendants of Malon and Talon, with slightly altered names, I couldn't help myself. **


	6. Lanterns

A bleak morning, slick with dew, held a lethargic air that would have had most prefer to stay in bed, warm and cozy against the bitter chill outside. Grey clouds, stripped of their thunderous tempers, streaked across the sky to cast their gloomy shadows upon the world as the sun peaked—with harsh reds and oranges—over the north eastern mountains, like the fires of Death Mountain's summit.

Very few ventured out into the streets earlier than necessary, and sadly, the first to come across the cold body of the captain was no more than Louise, the bar matron's cat. The loving creature, saddened by the find, stayed beside the body mournfully, faithfully ignoring the wet, chilled cobblestone upon her paws. No less than a full hour later, as her owner, Telma, came about looking for her feline companion, did quiet, pitying mews call attention to the fallen Talleday.

Sodden clicks echoed in the alley as Telma's low sandal heels carried the sturdy woman along, "Louise? Honey?" She called tiredly, yet to fully escape the clutches of a peaceful slumber as she readied for another working day.

Her soft hazel eyes drifted toward the quiet reply, following the cat's call, as she placed a hand to the stone wall beside her to slowly pad around the corner. _What on earth is that cat doing, out and about on a day like this? _She thought idly, concerned. _Louise hates wet weather…_

Blinking as her companion was found, Telma's gaze only registered the familiar streak of white before her attention turned to the crumpled body. With a small gasp, the last remnants of sleep left her immediately, replaced by urgency as her heart quickened. The hand leaning against the wall rose to hover in front of her lips, the shock of the body leaving her still there for a moment, before Telma's body shuffled quickly, almost of its own accord, to Louise's side.

Louise's green eyes peered up to her as Telma caught her gaze, an unspoken conversation took place, audible only from one side.

"Oh, honey…" Telma sighed, giving Louise a soft look. "You soft heart, so this is where you vanished to…"

The sturdy matron clutched the thick fabrics of her skirt and apron, hitching them up to kneel down and inspect the body. The stone was cold against her bare knee, but Telma's grimace came for the chill of the soldier's skin as she placed her fingers lightly to his cheek.

"…I know him…" She whispered to the cat, sadly. "It's ol' Captain Talleday, from the Goldies…"

The beads in her hair gave a short rattle as her head cocked to the side, hazel eyes running over his features and catching sight of his throat. She hadn't even noticed, with the lack of blood. Telma had thought it a tragic thing to find a body, lonely and cold on the streets, but this… To be murdered, throat slit in the night, was truly chilling. _And all his blood washed away with the rain… He must've been here for hours…_

She clicked her tongue, brows furred with sadness as she shook her head, dreaded locks swaying stiffly from a high ponytail.

"Poor bugger…"

Louise bowed her head some, almost in sullen agreement, when her green eyes flitted toward the bottle sliver, her ears perking with interest. She mewed questioningly, placing a paw carefully upon the glass as it gave a light scraping sound, moved against stone.

Telma's pointed ears twitched, much like her pet's, beads rattling again as she glanced toward the sound. _…Oh, don't tell me…_ she thought, disgusted, as she hesitantly picked up the sliver of glass, looking it over morbidly.

"Way to go, Lou…" She murmured distastefully. "You found the murder weapon…"

Louise gave an apologetic look toward her, tail swishing a bit limply, as if she too were repulsed.

Running her fingers along the tattered label, Telma tilted her head to read it, squinting some. "…Lonlon…" She blinked, confused.

After a moment, the lofty woman and her cat exchanged solemn glances, each giving small sighs as their gazes turn back toward the Captain.

"We better get him inside the bar, Honey. I'll send for the doctor to check him out… Maybe he can tell us more about what happened here… and then I'm gonna run over to the castle, tell someone to get down here…" She said, deflated, as she struggled to shift the body.

"…If that Old Coot Burville says anything about not treating dead men, I'm going to double his tab debt…"

And so it was that the still, uneventful morning grew busy with panic and suspicion. Within the bar, Doctor Burville quickly confirmed that the Captain had indeed been murdered in the early hours before dawn, and that the broken bottle piece matched the laceration in his neck. A small group of guards had accompanied Telma back to identify the body properly, and with a runner sent hastily, the council and soon after, the King, learned of Talleday's unfortunate demise. The castle halls were filled with nobles, scholars, and even servants; hierarchy was briefly forgotten as heated whispers filled the air. Gossip of the previous day, the broken milk bottles, the boy in the hall and Talleday's foul mood, none of the guards seeing the man since he'd left the bar; no curious detail was left unvoiced.

Outside of the castle, however, a tight perimeter of guards and soldiers quickly constructed a moat of silver, as all entry and exit to the grounds was refused thereafter. As fate would have it, Ganondorf's little clue had everything going to plan. When the ranchers arrived at the gates to deliver their wares, they were stopped and, despite their confusion at the explanation given, promptly arrested.

Though the King and his council had been careful to conceal the morbid affair from delicate ears, the whispers spread too swiftly, and the Princess—Barely dressed by a few hand maidens—Now ran barefoot down the halls, tears streaming down in silent shock, without a destination in mind.

Her small feet hit the carpet hard as Zelda's breath was taken in short, ragged gasps, her hands swiping somewhat at the air as she went. Her vision was blurred against the hot tears, and so she also could not see clearly, which was adding to the way she seemed to literally clear her path with the movement. Her petite frame swayed lightly, as any in the halls quickly moved aside. Zelda didn't know why she was running, but she just couldn't stop—She needed to do something, go somewhere… Not like when her Mother had passed… Anything to make it less similar to that time. Another close friend was gone, taken before their time, and though they may have drifted apart, her heart ached at the loss as it tore open old wounds to match the new.

Memories flashed across her mind, thoughts and emotions running wild. Her father's voice… Her mother's death… The conversations that day…

"_Zelda…Please…We knew this day would come…" _

_Her Father's voice was soft, broken and somewhat hollow. His eyes didn't shine like they once had, and though she'd seen them fading over time, Zelda had never expected the shimmer to die. Even so, his pain, or maybe it was guilt, she didn't care…it could never compare to hers. How could it?_

_Tiny fists balled into the fabric of her skirts, twisting as they trembled. The small Princess' face was contorted into one of sorrow and rage, as she glared up at the man, crystalline eyes dull with hatred._

"…_You let her die…" She hissed through clenched teeth, tears burning as they pricked the corners of her vision._

She shook her head, trying to rid herself of the memory, a choked sob sounding as she tripped. She stumbled, her feet refusing to stop, though her legs gave out to the momentum beneath her. The carpet burnt her knees and shins with friction caused by the collision, her hands scuffed as they fell before her hard. Zelda's frame shook upon the floor, the girl closing her eyes tightly as the cries fell heavy from her throat. Drips dabbed at the royal blue carpet, harmlessly dotting it with her tears.

"_She was very weak, Zelda… Her illness had taken a heavy toll, I only did—"_

"_You did NOTHING!" She screamed, voice cracking. "You sat there and watched her die! You told them not to give her the medicines anymore; you never took her out to the gardens over this last month! You wouldn't let me see her!"_

"…_She was too weak to leave her chambers…Please, understand, I wanted…"_

"_You took away her medicines. Of course she was too weak." She spat coldly, face setting itself into a mask of ice. "You **wanted** to be rid of her. Now you can marry another woman… One fit enough to bear you a son…"_

It was all too much. Zelda's breath hitched as her wailing dimmed, and that helpless high-pitched whine escaped her lips once again. She could feel people closing in around her; hear their concerned and soothing voices, distant as they were to her. It was as if she were in a bubble, trapped within the nightmare of her own guilt and loss. A hand was pressed to her shoulder softly and she snapped, lashing out with her nails without looking.

"Get away from me!" She screamed desperately, feeling flesh under her fingernails as she withdrew her hand to clutch her burning chest.

The unfortunate person who'd gotten close to her recoiled in shock, wincing as their face stung with fresh scratches. The Princess' upper arms were then gripped again, much more forcefully, as she was shaken briefly.

"Try that again, Zelda, and I'll scratch you back with _my_ nails." Came a deep, gruff reply.

Her eyes shot open, stinging against the air as her head snapped upward, unfocused vision picking up a blur of silver and dark shades of navy and grey. After a moment, it cleared, slowly forming the visage of Sheik, with a fresh few red streaks across his cheek, and he didn't look impressed. Three sheathed blade tips shone in the corner of her eye from the back of the hand that gripped her shoulder, solidifying his threat.

Her lip quivered, but despite his usual scowl and the uncomforting threat, somehow, this was soothing to her. In his own way, he was ensuring that she calmed down and regained control over her thoughts and emotions. His threat seemed to bypass her, and instead, Zelda almost felt as if he was threatening the painful memories that haunted her, driving them off with force rather than comfort.

That was something he did often, she noted. Unlike others, Sheik was not comforting when she was distressed. He was cold, factual, and real, not asinine and overly accommodating, feeding her false placation like a child. The Princess, despite other's opinions on this harsh manner, was truly grateful for this, and loved Sheik all the more for it.

"I… I'm s-sorry…" She murmured brokenly, shivering uncontrollably with disorderly emotion. "P-please… Tell me… He was murdered… wasn't he?" She pleaded quietly.

Ganondorf's crimson gaze flicked upward, taking a brief scan of those around, before moving to stand. Pulling the Princess up somewhat roughly, Zelda was met with a stern, commanding glance when her legs remained limp.

"Get up and come with me." He growled low. "Dry your tears."

The girl's chest felt tight as the tears continued to fall, seemingly endless in their flow, and her cheeks felt flushed and sticky. Zelda commanded herself to follow this instruction, shifting as all of her strength was put into allowing him to right her, and stand upon her own feet. Her heart only sunk lower when her knees buckled beneath, leaving her to slump forward and cling to the large Shiekah's waist weakly.

"I…c-can't… I…" She murmured, ashamed.

Zelda felt his torso move with a sharp inhale, followed by a heavy sigh, before her feet left the ground completely. She barely registered anything that wasn't absolutely necessary at this point, and the people gathered around them may as well have been ghosts to the distraught child. Glazed eyes watched the symbol of the eye pass across her blurred vision, as suddenly she was weightless, her arms throbbing slightly until they were released.

As the disguised Gerudo shifted her within his strong arms, carrying her, the child's head lolled forward to bury her tear streaked face into the loose fabric about his shoulders. Never had Zelda felt so tired, attacked at every moment by voices of the past, and tiny fingers clutched tightly at him, as if stabilizing herself upon his powerful frame.

Ganondorf wore an innately evil expression, as he turned his gaze upon the, once again, staring bystanders. Would their beady eyes never cease to watch him, judging every move and word? A deadly sneer crept across his mouth, as his fiery glare darted about, sending a clear message to the few who lingered. The Princess was his to do with what he pleased now, and not their stares, nor the council's, nor even the King's, could assuage him. Their whispers and gossip, all of their opinions, were useless and meaningless, just like each of their lives; idle, disposable.

Under the heated gaze, onlookers moved away, averted their questioning or concerned eyes, and some, that were able to without obvious signs of retreat, left the hall all together. It was only then that the disguised Gerudo turned, taking his ward away from prying eyes and ears, to stalk back toward her chambers.

She was vulnerable and open to him, and Ganondorf was not about to let that opportunity pass. This day would be one of connections made and information gained—Every moment she shed a tear without his presence was precious little time wasted.

Settling a large hand upon her back as they walked, he chanced a glance out of the corner of his eye, his chin brushing a lock of golden hair softly as he did so. Ganondorf's brows furrowed unseen as he thought about her reactions to death, reflecting upon the King's warning. _Seems it was not unfounded, _He thought, morbidly fascinated, _If this is her reaction to the death of a mere Captain, familiar as he might have been, then her Father's death will break her when we come to it._ That posed a problem. He grimaced lightly at the thought—_Seems I'll have to desensitize her to such things before then._ _Damn. I hate delays._

Crimson eyes turned with boredom to scan the tapestries they passed, his ears picking up on the Princess' ragged, though soft, breathing. A cunning mind was quick to plan out how to go about such a thing; If the child had such an aversion to death, then it must stem from something powerful in order to send her into such a state over a rumour of Talleday's murder. The Gerudo surmised that it was contextual, in this case. Murder was the trigger… Perhaps he could bypass some stress by way of a poison or curse. If the King's death appeared natural, Zelda's reaction may not be as severe, especially if he withered over time.

_Still, _he though distastefully, _It is her Father. The loss of both parents has a hard effect on any child, and the responsibilities pressed upon her as an heir may only exacerbate things. _

There had to be something he could use to soften the blow. Wisdom wouldn't knit together the tattered sleeves of her psyche until her sixteenth year. But then, if she were older, closer to that age, she would mature quickly within her position. There was a chance that, closer to adulthood, her father's death may lose some impact, if only slightly. But then, she may also grow withdrawn, even from him, in her grief.

Ganondorf's teeth ground together with frustration as his mind ticked with drawbacks and how to counteract them, rounding a corner to tread almost silently towards the ornate door to her rooms. _I suppose I'll have to drag it out of her now, while she's emotional. See what exactly is causing such an overblown reaction… _His eyebrow arched suddenly with a curious notion. Perhaps… If he could find out more about her mother's death… A dark grin tugged at his lips. _Yes…The last time she upset herself was over something to do with unkind words with the King, wasn't it? _

Zelda shifted some as his hand left her back, opening her large door with a slow creak to step across the threshold and into the darkness of her room. The Gerudo noted that the curtains had not been drawn, and her nightclothes lay still upon her bed in the far-east corner of the chamber. Apparently, it seemed that the hand maidens who woke her were the ones responsible for Zelda's knowledge of the murder. _She probably ran off as soon as she heard, too…Quick little thing, seeing they must've given chase immediately._ A sharp and slightly annoyed click of his tongue echoed briefly, before shutting the door behind them.

Swift steps carried the Gerudo across the child's room, boot falls muffled as they moved from stone across the plush, patterned rug toward the bed. He bent slightly, his hands working to pry the child off of his person, though with a slightly fearful whimper, Zelda shook her head and refused to let go. Ganondorf frowned some, growing agitated, though forced it back.

"Zelda, let go."

The Princess continued to cling to him, squirming around his hands and wrapping her hands around his shoulders as best she could. "No… d-don't… I don't want to…" She sniffed, her breath fanning hot against his neck as she pushed her face into it.

With an awkward grimace, Ganondorf repositioned his hands upon her waist, turning to sit upon the bed. It disturbed him in a small way, how similar these interactions were to those of a parent and child. These affectionate, careful movements, the myriad of looks she sent him over the time they'd spent together, already. The women of his tribe had never been like this; parenthood was a duty, where discipline and survival took priority over such coddling. It was strange and foreign to the man that this child clung to him so.

Within the dim lit room, the two settled into the same position they had within the library, the fading embers within the fireplace providing a soft and private light. Ganondorf peered down at the child curiously for a moment, curled upon his lap and hugging his torso. She seemed so fragile and weak, vulnerable and innocent, and it amazed him how different she seemed to the woman he remembered and hated.

Hesitantly, his arm snaked around her protectively, drawing her closer. "…To answer you," He started quietly, his gaze wandering toward the glow of the fireplace. "Talleday was killed outside of the tavern in town. The local doctor confirmed that it was a piece of broken bottle, found with his body, which was the murder weapon."

The Princess stiffened some against him, still shaking slightly. "…How?" She breathed, her small voice quiet and mournful.

"His throat was slit." He replied bluntly, though with a softer tone than Zelda had expected.

A moment of silence passed before Zelda nodded slowly, the loose fabric at the Gerudo's front rustling as it moved with the motion. Glassed crystalline eyes stared into the dying flicker among the ashes, like her attendant, as a distant and relatively cold tone seeped into her voice. "…Broken bottle… really…"

The Gerudo swallowed, avoiding the memories of his actions so that his heartbeat would remain unchanged, with the child's ear to his chest. "Yes. Witness reports, including my own account, have placed the ranchers of Lonlon as the primary suspects."

Zelda's head rose to glance up at him, her delicate features looking weathered and tired as shadows shrouded them. "Why is that?" She questioned, sadness slowly giving way to a calculating look.

"When the delivery boy dropped the milk order, yesterday, I found Talleday reprimanding him for his carelessness. He threatened to have the boy whipped… From the sounds of it, the lad has been late with his deliveries several times before, and that one was no exception, made worse by the fact that the goods were destroyed as well."

Ganondorf drew a long breath, choosing his words carefully. "I managed to talk him out of the punishment, and I went with the boy to fetch a replacement crate from another order. I talked with him some, it seems that old Tarron, who usually makes the deliveries himself, is getting less capable as he gets older; The lad may be young, and a bit careless, but he is only trying to aid his uncle."

The Princess frowned some, the corners of her mouth twitching. "A whipping is a bit harsh, for only a crate of milk." She conceded, disappointed by the revelation.

The Gerudo nodded, patting her arm as she sniffled, her tears finally seeming to die down. "Yes, I thought so as well…" He lied, grimacing as if put off by the thought. Glancing down at her, he continued. "I told all of this to the council when inquiries were made… but unfortunately, it seems that the ranchers aren't as pleasant as they seem."

Zelda blinked, a look of horror in her eyes. "…No, they weren't the ones who…?" She trailed off, her mouth falling open slightly as she seemed to remember the bottle piece.

"As the inquiries went on, a few of the servants who have dealt with them in the past noted that Tarron has always been a bit protective of his nephew and daughter. And, a few of the guards are well aware of the old rancher's distaste for the current state of the military… He's always been somewhat bitter about the guards here, thinking them cowards and glory chasers."

With a well placed sigh, Ganondorf's false regret came flawlessly. "They've been arrested, and are currently being sent through a hasty trial. As you must know, the assassination of one of the Royal guard constitutes a form of treason, showing contempt for the crown… I suppose you could call it a kangaroo court, with the evidence against them… most people expect there will be a hanging at dawn."

The Princess shook her head, lifting a hand away from his chest to wipe at her eyes. "I know we didn't always see eye to eye…" She murmured, "…But he didn't deserve to die like that…" A fresh sob hitched in her throat. "He was a good man… He changed since mother died, but he… h-he was always a g-good person…"

With another empathetic nod, the disguised Gerudo drew his hand up to stroke her hair comfortingly as her tears returned. "Zelda…" He started carefully, leaning to lock eyes with her. "…I know you grieve for him, but I can't help but wonder if your sorrow stems more from the presence of death around you, rather than the fact that the Captain has… passed."

Stifling the high pitched sound that threatened to escape her, Zelda's face fell back into an expression of guilt and pain. "…It…reminds me… o-of Mother…" She sobbed mournfully, staring into his crimson gaze as her quivering returned. "…Y-you remember that I t-told you about… how I…"

Biting her lip, her head fell back against his chest forlornly. "…You probably don't know a-anything about that… How Mother d-died… Seeing as h-how you haven't been around…"

Ganondorf's brows furrowed with false concern, as he trained his features to be a soft as possible. "Would you like to tell me what bothers you so?"

_Yes…_He thought, smirking on the inside, _Tell me all of your petty little secrets…_

Something within him burned with anticipation—He'd always fed off the pain of others, trying to balance his own; it sustained him to witness the suffering of others. But when the opportunity arose to use their own demons against them, the Gerudo excelled, with a mastery of manipulation, in exploiting it to his full advantage. Everyone had a weakness, and those of the kind that had to be constantly suppressed were the best to draw out and expose—He only needed to set it up, and watch them fall by their own hand thereafter. It was a favourite past-time of his, like a game that everyone played whether they realized it or not.

And like any game, he enjoyed such pursuits with a ruthless and eager drive to come out on top.

Fidgeting fingers rose to curl nervously into a lock of golden hair as Zelda grew quiet, closing heavy eyelids for a moment. The slight pulse of a headache had begun to take hold of her temples, making her eyes ache further.

"I... Loved mother more than anything or anyone... Even father; He was always just a little too busy to really have that connection with me, at a young age..." She offered, barely above a whisper.

"She grew ill, and fell into something of a depression... I didn't really understand at the time... It was an old sickness, consumption. She was taking a special mixture of medicines to keep it at bay, but within a few months, she was bedridden and too weak to walk."

_Consumption..._ The Gerudo thought, remembering the effects of such a thing, _And of course, the very best physicians in the bloody land would've been at her beck and call._ It angered him far more than it should have—So many of his people died, everyday, of such innocuous things. A scrape on a raid could quickly turn to an infection, and with a fever and a few days, one of his sisters would easily succumb. Mothers weak after birth would pass from lack of nutrients, with food a scarcity and water more precious than gold. Scraps made into bandages itched and burned upon fresh wounds, stitching was a brutal and crude practice, and yet, not miles beyond the valley's edge were Hylian doctors treating lowly peasants with luxurious, advanced methods compared to their own.

_But then, _He recalled bitterly_, It didn't make any difference, we may as well have never known of their medicines. They wouldn't treat Gerudo, even those few who made husbands of Hylian men._

The Princess shifted in his lap, uncomfortable in the silence as Sheik didn't respond. Gathering her small voice, she continued somewhat despondently. "...I barely knew my father, back then, when I think about it..." Her fingers twisted into her hair. "He wasn't really a father, just a king. I... don't think he really knew what to do with me or how to deal with me at all... But when mother died... I was bitter, grief stricken and alone. I blamed him for it."

Glossed eyes turned to the disguised Gerudo's hand, and slowly, her fingers left her hair and gently tugged the hand off of her arm to hold it. In doing so she snuggled closer, wrapping his arm fully around her as if hiding away from the world, her soft tone becoming distant.

"...When mother grew too weak, he ordered the doctors not to give her the medications anymore. And... She died... two days after..." Zelda paused, reiging her emotions in some. "...I told him that he'd killed her. As far as I was concerned... He'd taken everything I knew and loved away from me. I wanted him to have died, instead, and I made no secret of that… There's always been a rumor that father had expected a boy, and was disappointed when I came along instead... I never knew if it was true or not, but..." She sighed, a slight whine hinting at her still present sorrows.

Ganondorf, drawing away from his chagrin to focus upon the child's story, tucked away that precious piece of information for future use. It didn't surprise him that the shallow Royal family prized sons, though it had been proven time and again that their only asset of any value was the chosen line of daughters. Instead, Zelda—The odd child that she was—Seemed more of a burden, and even she herself felt that way... It would be all too easy to capitalize on this when the time came.

His hand shifted slightly within her grasp, as subtly, his thumb began to brush the back of her hand. It was a soothing sort of gesture, and to the child probably seemed affectionate, though truthfully it was far more possessive than it first seemed, running over the faded holy mark.

"I see..." He mused, the soft sound rumbling through his chest against her pointed ear. "And... You have forgiven him for this?"

A long and almost painful silence lingered before the slightest breath drifted through the warm air.

"...No..."

Crimson eyes lowered with some disbelief, regarding the tiny princess as her toes flexed, curling with obvious thought. "No?" He repeated.

"I will never forgive him for giving up on her. I know now that he did it out of mercy, to end her suffering, and I know that mother asked him to do so. But, she was weakened, lonely, and depressed..." She admitted quietly, words muffled against fabric.

"So much so, she requested I not be able to see her, within the last weeks, because she didn't want that state to be my freshest memory... Still, I know mother felt her condition became a burden upon us. I regret that I said those things to him, and I love my father... But I'll never forgive him for letting her die alone."

Ganondorf gave a light smile—Within daylight, the sinister curve of it would have been obvious, but in the dim lit room it was easily hidden by shadows. It was small, but the spark of hatred in Zelda's heart, held securely in place by a painful grudge, was a rare and beautiful thing to behold of her. His plans were coming together nicely now, and he had all the information he needed to proceed. The two sat comfortably a while, as Zelda settled, the pink flush upon her delicate features fading away slowly. She had all but fallen asleep against his broad chest, the gentle stroke of his thumb lulling her into a secure mental place once more. The Princess murmured slightly in protest when she was shifted, though to her surprise, she was taken in arms and held like when she was very small to be carried as the Shiekah stood.

A few strides took Ganondorf silently across the room, his crimson gaze perusing the oak desk at which the Princess would sit and draw occasionally, or sew as she had been learning to of late. Zelda was supported by a muscled arm, held high, as his free hand reached out to brush a few needles and bobbins aside. She was improving, he noted, glimpsing her most recent cross-stitching, half completed on pale linen. A few pieces of parchment were gathered together, drawing the Princess' tired curiosity.

"...What are those for?" She asked, blinking toward the gathered pages, before peering up at him.

He gave a light chuckle, turning slowly with a lazy gait to make his way back across the plush rug and toward the windowsill. It'd become his place within her rooms, ironically, and he sat there every night until she fell asleep, ever watchful of his ward. Ganondorf raised a silver brow at her, smirking benignly.

"Just an old tradition..."

Sidestepping a wayward chair and passing the large canopy bed, the disguised Gerudo brought his hand up to pull the heavy curtains aside, secretly relishing the fleeting feel of quality material. Even the curtains were uselessly self indulgent. The two of them winced, squinting against the light of day as dim rays shone through to light the dark dwelling. Setting her down upon the windowsill gently, her questioning crystalline eyes tracking his movements, he leaned over her to unlock the latticed windows. A sharp click resounded as the clasp released, and with a light push to open them, a faint and wisping breeze lifted the curtains to dance joyously in its presence. The smell of dew and fresh rains filled the air, crisp and refreshing, and the first small smile this day appeared upon Zelda's face as her sticky cheeks were cooled soothingly.

Ganondorf drew deep of it, inhaling deeply, content for a moment as the gentle wind caressed his face. His attention returned to the child, his smirk fading into a relaxed smile as he handed her a page, sitting beside her. "There… You know how to fold paper craft?"

He swiveled his body to face her, leaning his back against the stone as he was used to doing now, and caught the look of confusion on her face.

"Here," He chuckled, "I'll show you."

Zelda's fingers idly toyed with the edges of the parchment as she watched him begin to manipulate his, making tight folds with precision and patience. Her ears twitched at the sound of shifting paper, and with her eyes flicking between him and the parchment in her own hands, she began to copy him as best she could, mimicking the folds. Her brows furrowed with impatient frustration when she realized that she'd missed a few steps, as Ganondorf held up his now complete paper structure—A lantern, if she wasn't mistaken.

"...Almost." The Gerudo grimaced, reaching out to further inspect the mangled bit of paper in the Princess' hands.

Zelda flinched, pulling her flawed lantern away. "No, I can do it..." She snapped, immediately working to rectify her mistakes, using his as a reference.

Her gaze shifted obsessively between the two paper crafts as slender fingers picked and pulled at the edges; where his held smooth lines and flat surfaces, Zelda's was creased in odd spots, with tatty corners. When she was satisfied enough—and frustrated enough—she held it up with stubborn pride.

"There, see? I'm done."

Ganondorf snickered with a slight roll of his shoulders, sending the child an odd look. "Have it your way, Zelda."

She was an amusing child, he had to admit. Tenacious and independent for her age, quick witted with an odd sense of humor and a plethora of quirks and tics—She would fidget when nervous, stressed or excitable, her ears would twitch of their own accord in response to sounds around her, and she hated to wear shoes and didn't seem to care for fashion or the norms of clothing. She was curious, stubborn, eccentric… She loved new knowledge but hated to study. She had an odd fondness of cuccos and an even stranger obsession with their eggs, and the dishes that could be made with them. Ganondorf also had a sneaking suspicion that the girl actually enjoyed the looks she received when her dresses were ruined, her skin smudged with dirt and blades of grass in her hair.

She was, in a strange way, her own insult toward the pompous hierarchy she found herself in. The Gerudo doubted he would ever cease to find her 'shocking' behaviors, and the affronted reactions they often received, ironic and hilarious. Hell, he wanted to encourage it—The idiots of the upper class would continue to act as if she were some angelic, divine and graceful young woman, while the servants snickered at the grand joke and the rest of the world remained unawares. Zelda seemed, despite the odds, determined to have a realistic childhood.

And strangely enough, Ganondorf preferred this realistic, flawed little girl over the repressed, dignified and fixed woman he had known. Her ancestor may as well have seen the world in black and white, which infuriated him in the fact that she was supposedly wise, whereas this incarnation was a very applicable shade of grey.

Zelda self consciously inspected her handiwork, waiting for him to indicate what these were for, though he simply stared at her with a wistful sort of look. She blinked, rubbing her nose shyly under his gaze before her hand dropped to tug and pick at her dress. _He looks so far away,_ she though idly, trying to place the look in his eyes. After a few more moments, she awkwardly cleared her throat, fingers twitching some as his glazed look cleared and his attention returned to reality.

"…Do we light them in honour of the dead?" The Princess asked tentatively, trying to guide him back from whatever his mind had begun a tangent with.

Ganondorf blinked, his brows twitching before an amused sound escaped him. "Well, aren't you the little know it all?" He teased, sending her a wry look before giving a nod. "…Yes, I did this as a child, to honor those whom I never got to bid farewell. I suppose you could call it a point of personal healing."

Zelda's lips curved into a faint smile as she turned, crossing her legs upon the windowsill and peering out across the gardens below. "But why two? It's a nice gesture, but you don't have to pretend you liked the Captain for my sake…" Her eyes dropped to her tattered lantern, fingers running over it.

The disguised Gerudo shrugged, turning his gaze to the outside world as well, studying the clouds. "One to remember what good that old bastard did for you, before I came along, and one to farewell your mother." He said simply, holding his arm out of the arched window and testing the wind. "You did mention you never saw her, within the last weeks. I imagine a lot of your regret comes from the fact that you never received closure."

The Princess grimaced thoughtfully, her delicate brows twitching with consideration. "…Perhaps you're right…" She conceded quietly, glancing toward his arm. Holding out a hand palm up, she began to concentrate, closing her eyes and drawing from the core of her being until a glow encased her hand. Within seconds, a small and flickering flame came to life above her palm, caged by her fingers. She stared at it for a moment, as it licked harmlessly at her fingertips in the light breeze.

Ganondorf's crimson gaze locked onto the flame with interest, raising a brow as he spoke with a low rumble. "…Does your father know of your magical ability?" His eyes shifted to hers, peering at her with intrigue.

She shook her head lightly, with a small sigh. "No… Nobody does… I practice secretly, when I am alone. With the fireplace there, fire is the only thing I've really been able to learn." Her head tilted, studying the flicker as she wiggled her fingers experimentally. "I thought that if the council got wind of it, I'd be forced to take on more responsibilities, early… And, I suppose I am capable enough, but I don't look forward to it."

She sighed, shrugging some. "I know I will be learning how to act as a lady soon enough, they're already holding interviews for a tutor in etiquette, but I just… can't stand the thought, sometimes."

Squinting in thought, the corner of Ganondorf's mouth twitched with annoyance. _Tutors in etiquette,_ he thought with distaste, _So, the council obviously expects a great deal of change in her, fairly quickly…Perhaps their patience with her egocentricity and childishness has finally worn thin._ And knowing the type of men that made up the King's council, they would bombard the girl with lessons, requirements, constant conditioning, until she became whatever they wished her to be—the brittle, inflexible porcelain Princess of old; an enemy to him.

"Well," He clicked his tongue matter-of-factly, "They're going to be sorely disappointed." He muttered, more to himself than anything.

A slight frown washed over Zelda's face, something of offense and hurt hidden in her crystalline gaze. "Why? You do not believe I have what it takes?"

Blinking as he realized he'd spoken that thought aloud, the Gerudo lightly shook his head, trying to think of a good way to word this. _Actually, perhaps the truth is appropriate enough, just this once. Well, not every detail, but…_ Sucking a breath through his teeth, Ganondorf exhaled slowly through his nose, giving in.

"Zelda, I do not wish for you to change." He started, giving her a pointed look. "You already possess all the qualities you shall ever need to… regardless of what the council, or even your father, may think and expect of an heir, I… believe that if you allowed yourself to submit to their way of thinking, you would sell your potential short."

Of course, Zelda would never know that the potential he spoke of was something other than her perceived future.

However, the uncertainty in her eyes vanished with these words, and her smile returned with a bright spark of hope in her face. People never spoke of her like that—at least, in her presence—with such encouragement and faith. Everyone expected her to become something else, somebody entirely different to herself, and Zelda had always somewhat feared the pending lie her life would become, full of facades and restrictions. When she thought of it, she couldn't help but feel that she was not to be a person, but rather, an item; a holy relic, or at least, a pretty container for it. Her days as Zelda were numbered, and everyone around her seemed to demand that she become the bearer of Wisdom, as if they only dealt with _her_ while waiting.

But, she wasn't so sure she'd change, when her sixteenth year came. If she didn't, what would happen? Would she be rejected, a scrapped Princess, if she was still herself? It seemed she'd only become a disappointment, or lose herself in trying to please others. Somewhere within her, Zelda already knew that true leadership was not based upon appeal, but effectiveness.

And yet, here was Sheik, telling her not to change and that she was everything she needed to be now, even without Wisdom. He wasn't waiting for her to transform like a caterpillar becoming a butterfly, as if her current inferior persona would become a goddess magically, overnight. He believed in her for who she was and not the prospect of becoming something she wasn't, or supposedly better.

She realized, then, that the last person to do so was her mother. That was why she resented her father for her death, unable to forgive him though she had wanted to, and why she reacted so emotionally to the passing of those around her—Not for their deaths, per se, but rather for the fear of her own metaphorical death, creeping closer with every day. Her father would see her die alone, like her mother, and never know what he had done.

"I… never thought about defying them…" Zelda admitted, taking in the Shiekah's harsh features. "I suppose I've only ever tried to please them as I have to, and keep out of their way until I'm… called for."

She trailed off some, thinking that as she said the words out loud, they sounded meek and submissive. As if reading her mind, Ganondorf interjected with a subtle, yet powerful, point.

"…Not the words of a great leader, are they?"

The tiny Princess, her agreement etched into a slightly ashamed look, nodded solemnly.

The disguised Gerudo readied his lantern, holding it to the wind as he lit a small, purple flame within his own hand. "If that is how they would have you think, Zelda, then I will not allow it… Play along to keep the peace here and there, but don't take anything to heart."

With a smile, Zelda leaned out of the high window, holding her own lantern at the ready and holding the flame beneath, allowing the hot air to fill the paper craft. "Alright… Our little secret…" She giggled playfully, the last of her sadness fading away.

"To those we loved and lost, taken before their time." She whispered sincerely, as slowly, the lanterns were released, floating upon the wind's breath like spirits.

The two of them watched as their physical respects were paid, drifting up and dancing against the skies, out over the gardens and away. Ganondorf had not intended it to be genuine, merely suggesting the act to soothe the Princess, but as his lantern lingered on the wind, lonely and simple, he mourned.

The Gerudo, his fallen sisters, aunts, cousins… His actual mother, and even the old Twinrova sisters, all flew across his mind like the breeze upon his face. He had betrayed them in his failure, leaving them without a leader, vulnerable and hated unanimously; the few supporters had a change of heart during his reign. For them, for what was owed to them, he would be successful. This land would belong to the Gerudo, as it always should have—the forgotten children of the Goddesses, who, bereft of a key to the sacred realm as with all other races, must've held the rights to the treasure.

He chuckled with a hollow sound, nodding in distant agreement with his ward, as the pair watched the lanterns fade from sight, lost to the horizon.

"…And to the future, which will be forged with their memories."

**Oh my god.**

**Sorry guys, I know it's been a while, but I've had a hectic time.**

**The kitchen flooded when a hot water pipe broke, and I was at work so it ran for like, two hours before I got to it. Candles in the cupboard melted too, so EVERYTHING was covered in wax. It made all my draws collapse too, so, I've had to clean and rearrange everything.**

**Then the bosses at work went on holiday, and were training a new chick, so I had to pick up extra shifts. They also forgot to organize our pays, so my pay came three days late, which scared me. Heh, bills don't wait. .**

**And Yeah, I've been tuckered out, and tired writing is bad writing, so I apologize if parts of this chapter are kinda… crappy. **

**Also, I included Telma, because Telma rocks. As I said, kinda AU timewise/location wise, because, I know I hinted to Shad earlier in the story as being an old man. Characters are more just favourites making cameos.**

**Anyway, it's done now, at least. Onward, to glory!**


	7. A Man's death and a Woman's Birth

The cobblestone streets were once again lined with people of all manner, from the tall and short, to the wealthy and the poor, huddled close in the chilled morning air that winter brought.

Unlike the festival that had boasted such a crowd before it, jovial and carefree, today the air was still with a somber and bleak event, as the masses gathered in the square with urgency. Lowly whispers, and hissed conspiracies, were passed about amongst the common folk; those who knew the guilty party ranged from defensive and concerned, to shocked and outraged. Children, unawares of the true nature of execution, clung to the legs of their shifting fathers, and the hems of their mothers' skirts, sucking thumbs and eyeing the rope with unease. Adults, world weary as they may have been, either milled about concerned or amused themselves in the anxious wait, impatient for the morbid show—Public executions were rare, more so in times of peace, and even the eldest could count the number seen on one hand.

Where the same people had gathered not a month or so before in celebration, the memories of the festival seemed distant and tainted against the sight of a lonely noose.

Clouds streaked the skies overhead, grey and bruised, looking miserable as if to shed tears for the old rancher as, after a suspenseful wait, he was finally trotted out by an escort of guards. Roughly pushed and prodded with the points of spears, he was jostled to both the jeers of the crowd and the harsh words of the bitter soldiers. The roar of those thirsty for blood soon overcame the awkward stares of those who were still in shock of the ruthless murder, as patchwork overalls were pelted with the tomatoes Tarron was likely responsible for growing.

From under thick brown brows, the desperate blue eyes of an innocent man scanned the crowds, breaking only to wince as fruit connected with his cheek forcefully, splattering to sting his vision with rotting juices. Shackled hands flinched with the ring of chains to guard himself against the onslaught of scowls, tomatoes and disgust, though his captors quickly restrained him further, condemning him to the mercy of the masses. To the side, at the forefront of the multitude of people, he spied his children, held by more of the soldiers; His beautiful Malinna, so like her late mother, hid beneath the bangs of her fiery fringe, as tears flowed silently down her cheeks. She wouldn't look, she couldn't, and he was grateful for this.

His faithful nephew—No, his son—Link, however, struggled with all of his might to break free of the soldier's grip. Two of the pitiful men held the boy's arms, though he wouldn't relent, kicking and screaming with injustice and sorrow. Though tears stung Link's eyes and his arms held many bruises from the crushing hold he struggled to tear himself away from, within those crisp blue irises swam a tumultuous ocean of rage and desperation, wild and so unlike the calm placidity they normally held.

As Tarron's boots fell unsteady upon the wooden platform, he was pulled roughly to a halt, his head lowering as his gaze tore painfully away from his kin. An eager hush befell the crowd, though light, bloodthirsty cheers did not allow the uproar to die, as a thin soldier in extravagant attire unfurled a scroll to announce the crimes for which the rancher was to die. He himself was deaf to them, only able to hear Link's angry, heartbroken pleas and his daughter's quiet, agonizing cries as the rest of the world grew silent.

Even as the rope was lowered and fastened around his neck, itching at his beard and scratching the skin of his throat, Tarron's eyes closed with the quiet reflections of a damned soul in their final moments.

_Link… You take good care of Malinna… And that old fool, Ingora too… You gotta be the Hero they need to see 'em through; keep the Ranch goin'…Everybody's always been able to count on you, when times got rough…_

A drumroll sounded, echoing mournfully through the city square, as bereft blue eyes turned to the boy of his thoughts. _I wish I could've been there, boy…To walk Malinna down the aisle, as pretty as her Ma… To see the light shining in your eyes when you finally show the world what you're made of…_

With the roar from the crowd below, and the final, lonely yell of a desperate boy, the crank of that deadly lever shifted as the platform gave way to seal the Rancher's fate.

_You're gonna rattle the heavens, you are…_

Far above, tucked away from the world, Zelda sat upon the stone of her windowsill, her delicate ears twitching as the echoes drifted upon the wind as but a distant, vengeful cheer. Tiny fists curled into the fabric of her slip, tugging harshly at the soft cotton as her toes flexed autonomously, a heavy hearted frown marring her cute features. Talleday's murderer had been brought to justice, and yet, the whole affair left her feeling sick. Even the distant cries of the citizens below only served to make her skin prickle with remorse and revulsion; now, two men were dead, and what good had come of it?

_Such a senseless waste of life,_ she thought bitterly.

Suffice to say, the tiny Princess was in no mood for others, today—Not for her tutors or the handmaidens, nor even the scholars and councilmen. Not even her father. Waking earlier than usual from a fitful sleep, she'd slipped away from the warm comfort of her bed to hide behind the rich curtains, a stowaway in her own rooms, watching the sunrise over the mountainous horizon.

Zelda had remained quiet, somber and content in her isolated little alcove, even as the poor women who had come to rouse her were left in a panic after finding her bed empty. Doubtless, the castle was probably in an uproar by now, tearing down walls to find her… Though she found she didn't care. Her cotton slip, as little as it did to shield her from the chill seeping through the panes of glass beside her, felt more suitable than her royal attire. Even her crown seemed as if today, it would feel heavy upon her brow, weighed down by sorrows and perhaps a bit of guilt.

Why did her absconding always seem to cause such alarm? Heavens forbid, she would miss her lessons and not be paraded about like a fine jewel, to be admired and never touched.

_I'm not some hollow, porcelain doll! I __**can**__ handle myself without their strict schedules and rules guiding my every action,_ her mind huffed, indignant. It wasn't as if she had any real purpose but to sit and look pretty, currently, anyway. Why shouldn't she be allowed to sit here, in the windowsill, and watch the sunrise undisturbed? Was that not a basic human right?

…_And yet, if I had revealed myself, I'd have been dressed and sent off to breakfast, with a 'Come now, or you'll be tardy' or, 'Now, your Highness, you know your schedule doesn't allow for this dilly-dallying'…_

The tiny Princess scoffed to herself, thin brows furrowed with distaste as her hands rose to grip her shoulders, her fingers feeling cold even against her own skin. She had thought upon Sheik's words from yesterday, and Zelda had found him to be correct; everything that passed the man's lips seemed to ring true to her, be it unveiling a great truth unseen or simply reminding her of her own value. He was a Godsend, arriving just in the knick of time. With him at her side, giving her strength, she'd never allow herself to be molded by the whims of others, and Zelda was resolute in this. She would become—No, continue to be— who she was truly meant to, by the God's intentions, and not what was demanded of her by men.

Huffing to herself with a long winded internal tirade, her temper was fluctuating violently from one thought to another within minutes. Sharp crystalline eyes turned to the brass latch holding the window shut, and with little more than a considerate twitch of her fingers, a hand shot up to open it. With a careless flick of her wrist, the click resounded, and without a trace of decorum befitting her status, Zelda twisted in place to kick out at the wooden frame. Jolted on their hinges with a painful sound, through the newly opened windows the chilled breath of the outside world seeped in and around her diminutive frame, cooling the feverous anger pulsing beneath her skin. She sighed heavily, shifting to face outwards and rest her chin within her hands as the disarray of golden locks danced lightly in the breeze.

Zelda, despite various reasons to feel upset of late, couldn't place why exactly she had reached such a state of ill temperament. She was prone to the odd tantrum, as with most children her age, though often restrained them well—_And I, often, actually have a good reason to behave in that manner, at any rate._ Another painful twist shot through her belly as icy pink lips twisted into a grimace; She was only worsening the feelings by allowing herself to be so worked up. The sorrows that made her gut twist weren't usually so… physically painful.

Zelda had experienced this myriad of emotions before, to a much more severe extent, though it never heralded such raw, implacable anger. She almost felt as if she were about to fall into pieces, shattered like a wine glass carelessly knocked to the floor.

Her eyes searched the skies, tracing the vague outlines of the clouds as if trying to decipher hidden messages from the Gods. She felt empty. She had for a long time, she supposed… _Until Sheik came along, _she thought suddenly, a smile ghosting her lips. Blinking with a slight epiphany, Zelda realized that Sheik's absence seemed to coincide with her foul mood. Did she really miss him so badly? She hadn't seen him since he'd bid her goodnight. He was the balm to her tattered young mind, raveling up the sleeves of care and wellbeing within her and keeping them from fraying any further, putting her at ease.

Tiny fingers rose to the corner of her mouth, as her teeth grazed the nail idly, chewing. _Perhaps I have abandonment issues…_She thought with some dark humour, perusing the image of the Shiekah in her mind's eye. Zelda had never seen any man like him; as tall as a marble pillar, chorded muscle lining a broad frame and filling him out with power and capability, while a hardened and somewhat coarse soul peered out of those piercing crimson eyes. How she loved those eyes… They held a shimmer of something that made her heart flicker with dread sometimes—Something unknown, cruel, insatiable. But then, they would hold a warmth, like flames, filled with pride and confidence… And a familiarity that haunted her. For the life of her, she couldn't describe it or hope to place it, but thinking of those eyes made her spirit soar. One day, she hoped a proud queen, every bit as capable, would sit on Hyrule's throne with the same sheen in her own gaze.

Delicate features, that'd taken on a placid and soothed look with such thoughts, suddenly twisted with discomfort as Zelda flinched, curling into herself some with a shudder. The most painful twinge yet, a whimper escaped her throat as slowly, concern laced her countenance. It almost felt like something had just broken inside of her, bile threatening to creep up her throat and stain her tongue.

_Why does this hurt so much? _Slowly letting her tense body relax as it subsided, her hands returned to the fabric of her slip, seeking comfort in the habit of pulling unconsciously at its hem.

All of her previous thoughts and moods were swiftly erased, however, when her fingertips found the cotton moist. Peering down with confusion and shock, Zelda's eyes were met with the sight of a stain, brownish red in colour and spread about her lap. A feeling of dread and horror hitched steeply in her chest, as tentatively, her fingers worked of their own accord to pull the hem back to inspect herself. Creamy thighs were also slick with the odd fluid, patched and growing in intensity the closer it got to…

She screamed.

Ganondorf, who had been enjoying himself high upon the outer eaves above his rooms, alone with a book and lazily reclining, twitched at the muffled sound. Crimson eyes left the page to stare blankly at the horizon for a moment, before panic set in. Zelda had screamed. He wasn't there.

_Shit…!_

Cursing himself mentally, and swearing under his breath for good measure, the book was cast aside to be left out on the ledge as the Gerudo leapt to his feet, jumping down and roof running to the nearest entrance. Surprisingly nimble as his boots fleetingly kissed stone walls and outcrops, he did the Shiekah name proud as within seconds, he landed at the threshold of the large doors to the gardens. Bolting down the aisle, a symphony of colours cast by the stained glass windows flashed across his gaze until he tore around a corner, almost headlong into a few servant women.

Barely dodging them in his haste, the bulk of the man rushing past knocked one of the girls off balance, sending her stumbling with a shriek to spill the contents of a wash basin over herself and the carpeted stone flooring. Of course, Ganondorf did not stop, or remotely care—He would've usually found it slightly amusing, if anything, however the fact remained that he had no clue as to the whereabouts of his ward, or her wellbeing.

This could land him squarely in doubt as to his worthiness to attend Zelda, ruining all of his planning and work thus far; the tedium, strain and humiliation for no gain.

Initially, the Gerudo had perched himself upon the roofing to view the execution from afar, taking some satisfaction from a job well done, and another crime to add to the long list committed, unscathed. It was also a private and relatively safe place to study volumes of interest. Only today he had come across a few passages that seemed to hint toward the Shiekah clan—in its most recent evolutions—actually having split away from the parent clan after one woman, a Servant of the Goddesses, had openly challenged Ghirahim in the days before the Monarchy, saving one of Zelda's ancestors in the process. Pleased with himself, he had delved further into the tome, losing track of the time and, ultimately, Zelda.

_How could I have been so careless! _He chastised himself vehemently, tearing through the corridors as, to his dread, many others seemed to be in much the same state as himself.

Keen ears picked up on the voices flowing around his speeding form, crimson eyes searching the Princess' usual haunts as he passed them—She had been missing all morning. If any harm had come to her, he was as good as… well, his true self, to the King and council. As he caught gossip and panicked whispers, momentary as handmaidens breezed past him in their own heated search, Ganondorf's heart felt as if it had exploded, his steps slowing to a halt.

"Have you found her yet?"

"No, nowhere, ma'am! Jezel said she and Mara went to rouse her! Her Highness wasn't there, and hasn't been spotted since!"

"Oh, have they checked the eastern gardens yet? A few of the guards thought they heard a scream about there… Let's go, hurry!"

As the women scurried off, hitching their skirts for speed, the Gerudo's mind pinpointed something he was both grateful for and concerned by—He knew where she was. Pausing briefly as relief and self loathing warred for dominance in the depth of his chest, a shaky hand rose to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"…I'm too old for this…."

A bemused and tired scowl set about the man's weathered features, his eyes narrowed as he allowed himself a slow, though paced gait back towards the children's wing and, therein, the young Princess' chambers.

_All this, and the little brat probably screamed as a result of a cut folding paper craft or by pricking her finger with the darning needle, _His cynical mind hissed, annoyed now more than anything. One of these days, he was sure to throttle the girl. But, with the Hero out of the way—Not the best possible outcome achieved, but the boy likely would be thrust into poverty and at least, be unable to buy or learn the ways of a sword—And Talleday dead, little more than ash, the wayward Princess was his only real concern, besides her fool of a father.

What concerned him for the moment was the serendipitous conditions of his acceptance that, unfortunately, couldn't be reproduced at will. He was not truly a Shiekah, and he did not have a habit of swooping in to save the day, as much as Zelda may believe the opposite. His surveillance of her was, in reality, casual at best and likely, not too dissimilar from the Captain's efforts. In the event that the Princess found herself in actual danger, without him immediately present, there wound be no savior that day. This little scare had made that apparent.

_I suppose an actor can research a part to his heart's content, though it will ever be a mere portrayal of the actual subject._ His jaw shifted with frustration as he mused; _I need insurance if there is to be years of this…I can't keep watch over her twenty four-seven, without the possibility of cracks appearing in my guise with her infuriating nature._

Finally coming to the Princess' rooms, he let himself in without a second thought as to knocking, sidetracked as he was; _Perhaps, If I teach her to defend herself, I may save myself some headaches in the future…But, a charm to track her whereabouts somehow wouldn't go astray, either._

The Gerudo stopped as the door silently closed behind him, peering about the dim room with scrutiny. Bed unmade, though no bedclothes were laid out anywhere… But a pillow was missing. Taking a few steps inward, his boots lightly scuffed the edge of the rug as he caught sight of the white wardrobe, drawers open, though nothing was touched. She wasn't dressed, it seemed. After a few moments of consideration, Ganondorf's attention wandered, by way of elimination, to the velvet curtains across the way, hiding the window at which he often sat. The closed drapes lightly swayed with the hint of wind behind them—the window was open. _Ah…That explains my hearing the scream so clearly._

Swift strides carried him within earshot of a quiet sniffle as he smirked to himself; _Found you, sneaky little wench..._ But the tiny victorious flicker in his chest died when his heavy hand drew aside the curtain.

Huddled in a fetal position, clutching her pillow and trembling, lay the tiny Princess, who in this moment could be compared to a frightened dormouse in the grasp of a hungry cat. Helpless crystalline eyes opened to stare up at him pleadingly, though the Gerudo's gaze only met hers for an instant before his attention wandered to her legs, discoloured and slick with smeared rivulets, beneath a large blood stain around the bottom of her slip like a demon's bite.

He twitched, realizing immediately what that indicated.

Zelda stared at him for a moment, looking lost and small. "I-I'm… bleeding…" she whispered shakily, her fingers kneading the pillow in nervous, erratic motions.

Not many moments had past in his life that were as unpredictable and awkward as this one, and though a thousand possible responses flew through his mind in a flash like lightning, only one left his lips in a meek voice Ganondorf could barely claim as his own.

"…I can see that."

"Wh-where were you?" She cried, clearly distraught as lifted herself slightly, golden locks tumbling over her shoulder.

The Gerudo felt numb, completely at a loss for what to say or do. He felt disgust, pity, guilt, anger, humiliation, shock… And if he wasn't mistaken, some cracked corner of his mind actually found this to be funny. His fingers twitched limply at his sides, his muscles clearly tensing beneath the skin tight attire as his mouth parted to speak, but failed.

His gaze traced the cracks in the stone for a moment before he finally responded, instinctually avoiding the sight.

"I was gathering a few books for you in the libraries, to brighten your mood." He lied, "Of course, I did so in trusting that you were under the supervision of your tutors in my stead…"

Zelda flustered, angry tears in her eyes as she clutched violently at her pillow, glaring at him. "Books?" She spluttered, disbelievingly. "I've been poisoned, right under your nose! And as I lay here bleeding, with my insides** hemorrhaging,** and all you can think about is books and my missing a few lessons!" Her voice climbed an octave toward the end, like that of a harpy shrieking.

To the frightened Princess' horror and outrage, the Shiekah laughed. It started as nothing but the corner of his mouth twitching, before that usual smirk brought on the rumble of a chuckle. But after a moment, the man actually had to turn away from her to hide his expression, snickering low with a dark and condescending sound. Here she lay, possibly dying, and her attendant—her savior—thought it a grand joke. His broad shoulders rolled as a leather bound hand rose to hide his amusement, clearing his throat as he attempted to contain the sound. Slowly, he twisted on a heel to peer at her sidelong, hand still covering his mouth though he covered this somewhat by shifting it onto his chin and forcing a thoughtful look.

His rich voice still held a hint of laughter as he carefully formed the words to avoid angering the child further. "Zelda… You've not been poisoned." He reassured, turning his gaze firmly to the vista behind her.

"Why does nobody listen to me! Why?" She screeched, her voice cracking with hormonal emotion, though Zelda was unaware of this. The pain and bleeding, the strange moods—it was only logical the poisons would play havoc on her mind. Wild crystalline eyes glared at him with a feral look, and the Gerudo swore he could see her hair bristling and her hackles raised like an alley cat, but almost instantly after her outburst, the rage melted away from her delicate features to be replaced sorrow.

"…Don't you start, too…" She pleaded quietly, her hands stroking the silken cover of the pillow, now lovingly held in her embrace, rather than strangled as it was moments before.

Ganondorf shook his head, his chest heaving with a heavy sigh. He had never been a man to pray, but if any God would listen to him now, he would be humbled and grateful to erase this situation from his life entirely. This was, very nearly, a deal breaker; This pitiful women's business…

"You aren't poisoned, Zelda, you're a woman."

Zelda fidgeted some, readjusting her legs with an uncomfortable squelch that made her cringe and shudder. She shrunk, blinking some, behind the soft friend that was the pillow. Her pointed ears twitched some in thought as she tried wrap her mind around the statement.

"…What does gender have to do with this?" She finally huffed, pouting as her emotional state seemed to get the better of her.

Turning away from her with the urge to strike something, Ganondorf took toward the child's bed, sitting upon it as he rested his elbows on his knees, slouching some with exasperation. He fixed her with a hateful glance, placing a knuckle to lightly massage his temple, muttering.

"You are a vexatious little girl, you know that?"

Zelda hid behind her pillow, peering over the top of it at him, before a meek question came with some embarrassment. "…I am… not in any danger?" Her brows furrowed some, "You aren't worried at all…"

Finally, the Gerudo was at breaking point with her, his canines showing in a snarl. "Don't be difficult, girl! Are you honestly telling me you have no clue as to what is happening to your body? You are the Bearer of Wisdom!" He growled viciously, gripping the edge of the bed forcefully as his fingers dug into the materials; He had to take hold of something to keep himself anchored.

But with the look of hurt and fear in her eyes, to his frustration, he could see that the child genuinely did not. He supposed, with her mother's death being at an age where Zelda was not yet ready for such information, it did make sense that she didn't know. How could she? _It's not bloody likely that her bastard father would sit her down and explain it, _he cursed mentally. Taking a good moment to steel himself, and settle his agitation, he ran twitching fingers over his forehead to glide through his hair.

"Zelda… You…" The disguised Gerudo seemed to struggle, grinding his teeth to form words. "…When a girl becomes a woman, there are a few marks of the transition. Bleeding… is one of them…"

The Princess' crystalline eyes stared blankly, expectantly at him from behind the tuft of silk, until she shifted uncomfortably, adjusting herself some. A blush of embarrassment had crossed her face by this point. "…Oh… I see…" She murmured, feeling foolish.

Tucking a wayward lock of gold behind her ear, her arms loosened around the pillow so that her fingers could meet, picking and fidgeting at each other. Her gaze remained solely on her toes. "…Why is that? It seems like a very drastic… 'transitional marker'."

The Gerudo rolled his eyes, shaking his head before he allowed himself to collapse backward into the inviting sheets, a palm held to his head as if fending off a fever.

"To bear children; You bleed because you are now able to reproduce. Congratulations." He snapped harshly, sneering to himself unseen. Oh, how he would be glad to see this conversation end. It was an insult that he even indulged her in such a subject; every word was an assault to his pride, as a man, that he would be reduced to such a motherly role as to explain the facts of life to a child. He didn't plan to be anymore detailed about it than that—In all honesty, the few girls that he _had_ taught about such things were old enough to learn by hands on experience, which he much preferred, and at least knew the tedious basics of their bodies.

This was very different; humiliating, awkward and inconceivable if not for the fact that it was happening.

Even so, the Gerudo felt a pang of relief when he'd realized that the source of bleeding was not of concern. It was momentary, and quickly overwhelmed by some revulsion, but his chest had tightened considerably with the notion that she was injured. In the back of his mind, he reasoned that this was simply an extension to his earlier concerns of exposure or expulsion from his position, but unrecognized beneath the chaos of his reaction, a sliver of doubt implanted itself. Perhaps a moment of weakness, or the same thing that had urged him to turn the steed away from her in the first place—But for that instant when the curtain was pulled aside, revealing the frail Princess, he was terrified for her.

And with that flash of fear, that someone had harmed her—which he was certain came of the selfish desire to keep her well until her sixteenth year—he was also faced with the fear that it may not have been a selfish thought at all.

The Princess seemed to take this on, considering it and taking the hint from his tone not to ask more. She drew into herself, hiding her face in the silken materials fully as the pillow blackened her vision of the world. Her voice came muffled through it, though audible.

"I had assumed that you found out if you were capable of conception when you married… When you kiss during the ceremony…"

Ganondorf snorted derisively, resting his forearm in front of his eyes to, likewise, send the world black. "Don't be foolish, Zelda. If such a thing were possible by a mere kiss, then I'd have been a father at the age of nine." He chided tiredly.

After a moment of reticence, a soft giggle was heard from behind the pillow. Zelda, poking her head up enough to gaze upon him, grinned behind the fabric. "So you are a ladies man." She squeaked.

Now that she thought about it, though, the Princess considered that a kiss indeed sounded foolish—At the festival, and on other occasions, she'd seen people kiss with their lips, and nothing ever came of that besides the birth of gossip. _I suppose I can always search out a book about such things later, _she considered, taking in Sheik's haggard appearance, _I guess that's why the women of the Shiekah tribe were always attendants in the past… He's not very good at discussing these sorts of things, but I suppose most men probably are not._

Receiving another sigh from him in response to her comment, she pulled at her slip, setting the pillow aside to inspect the damage. A scolded look crossed her cute features as her father's voice echoed through her ears, accurate imaginings creating the verbal bashing her state would receive if anyone else saw her. Biting her lip, Zelda fidgeted shyly, slouching some as she unfurled a leg from beneath her to stretch it toward the floor carefully, so to avoid more mess.

"Sheik…?" She called meekly, gingerly climbing down. Receiving a grunt of ascent, she shyly continued. "…Can I have a washbasin? …Please?"

The Gerudo's eyes snapped open with urgency as he remembered the reason for the conversation was still dripping down the girl's legs, grimacing against an exaggerated mental image conjured up by the thought. Twitching with disgust, his own strict sense of personal hygiene making the back of his neck itch for good measure, he sat up quickly with a resolute look.

"Yes, you can."

A servant was called upon shortly, as the supposed Shiekah made his presence within the castle known alongside information on Zelda's whereabouts and, loathe as he was to mention it any further, her current state. Ganondorf found no reprieve; an explanation as to his missing ward was demanded almost unanimously from her tutors, under risk of notifying the council and her father of any egregious oversights. Unfortunately for them, the Gerudo's twisted sense of repayment to their hassling was to relay to them, in agonizing detail, the Princess' little development. After a short time, Ganondorf found that he was left well enough alone to steady himself against the whole affair, even finding the time to chuckle about the girl he'd knocked earlier, who had spilt the basin of dirty water over herself. As luck would have it, she was also the one to fetch this basin as well, and glaring at him like a rain of flaming arrows, this promptly set the Gerudo's mood into a slightly better one.

Zelda's meal was taken in her room by exception, after she had washed and changed into another slip. After the initial ordeal, it seemed the tiny Princess was now milking the sympathy she was receiving for all it was worth while it lasted—She was allowed to spend the entire day in her rooms, resting and amusing herself as she pleased, in her bed clothes. All was explained and forgiven, and there would be no punishment or reprimanding; the King, busy though he was, even sent her a note to extend his pride for this new development and wish her a speedy recovery from any discomfort, the words 'Stay Chipper' penned in his own hand and not by a scribe, beside his signature.

And the little Princess was so secretly thrilled by this that she over-exaggerated her discomfort, just a tad, on the off chance she may squeeze another day out of it.

Now enjoying the lazy afternoon, Zelda sat snuggled within the covers of her canopy bed, a few extra throw pillows about here and there, eating biscuits from a platter and sipping milky tea, content. Ganondorf, in the throes of boredom, had retrieved his book from the eaves above and now sat near her, reading it, leaning against one of the wooden dowels keeping the canopy aloft.

Despite slight agitations as to the sight of such a spoilt and pampered child, and the inevitable retrospective envy it dredged up initially, the Gerudo was in an agreeable and relaxed mood. He had even indulged himself with a few biscuits since settling, not truly knowing whether he cared for them, though they did go down well with a sip of brandy. Zelda had, likewise, pilfered a few sips from his glass over the course of the afternoon.

Wiping the crumbs from her icy pink lips, the Princess turned crystalline eyes upon her companion with a small smile, holding the tray out for his inspection. "Another biscuit?"

Slightly annoyed by the habit she had of distracting him whenever he attempted to focus upon something, the Gerudo withheld a sigh, shaking head his briefly while trying to keep his place in the text. As his crimson eyes scanned the words however, he found that, once again, he had lost it to the child's incessant prodding. Ganondorf's head fell back, knocking the wood behind; _I give up, _he thought jadedly, _I won't retain any of the damn thing in her company, either way._

Closing the book with a sharp snap, he tossed it carelessly down to join his boots upon the rug, resigning himself to the child's whimsy. Inclining his head to peer over at her, a thick silver brow was raised in her direction as the girl dipped a biscuit into her tea.

"Zelda. Bad form." He scolded lazily.

With a cheeky, lilting smile she shrugged, popping the treat into her mouth quickly in spite of him. It all but melted against her tongue, warmed by the beverage, and swirling the sweet flavour around her mouth she wondered what use the rigid etiquette that drinking tea required, was. Swallowing quickly to speak, she coughed lightly with a tickle in her throat.

"I don't see what the fuss is about. It's delicious, you know, and much nicer that way. It may be frowned upon, but the union of the two is too good to pass up."

A wry smirk crossed his lips at that. He could think of several scenarios of a similar ideal that he'd been involved in, particularly those of a sexual nature. Snickering with the mischief of the past shining in his eyes, the Gerudo gave a nod. "I suppose I can relate to that."

Zelda, who had found quite the joke in the thought of Sheik indulging in women and debauchery, though it seemed increasingly obvious he had done in the past, giggled with a naughty and knowing glance his way. Setting the platter aside, with a wide lean to reach the side table, the Princess then crawled forward to lie upon her stomach, chin propped up in her elbows.

"How old are you?" She asked, smiling sweetly.

Clicking his tongue evasively, Ganondorf swirled the brandy within the glass, watching the motion. _I suppose this could be interesting._ "Why do you ask, child?"

Shrugging nonchalantly, unchanging in her innocent expression, she continued to stare at him. "I am curious."

"Yes, indeed, I find you to be very curious." He shot back, brow twitching playfully as Zelda rolled her eyes.

"Don't take my words out of context and then leave my question unanswered! You always do that." She huffed lightheartedly, blowing a blonde tress away from her face.

Chuckling, he conceded, amused. "Yes… I suppose I do." After a moment, Zelda's gaze turned from expectant to commanding, as her head lowered ever so slightly to give the curve of her brow more authority.

A relaxed sigh rolled from his throat, holding the rich tone of his voice teasingly within the sound. "…Older than you." He finally answered, pretending to be far more interested in the pattern of the wood grain in the canopy above.

"Sheik. If you don't tell me, I'll make that noise you hate." She threatened in a sing song sort of way, raising a thin brow in his direction as her gaze idly traveled his profile.

Ganondorf paused then, breaking the mood to send her a rather scathing glare. "Don't even think about it." He hissed low. "I am not kidding Zelda, I know how to avoid marking you should I ever want to strike you."

Despite this very real and serious threat, the Princess simply smiled up at him. "Well, then, I suppose you will just have to tell me so you don't discover that I bruise easily." She winked, confident that she had won the argument as her feet lightly swung in the air behind her.

Eyeing her pointedly, the Gerudo weighed the options of whether he could, in actuality, get away with striking the child with others remaining unawares—It was an interesting thought, to say the least… Perhaps he could work it into her conditioning were he to train her in combat as he now planned to. _Bruises from a sparring match; she'd hide them, or make excuses for them, doubtless, happy enough that she is to be trained. That's promising._

Tucking the thought away for later, Ganondorf rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck as the silver plat holding the bulk of his hair in place was tossed over his shoulder.

"Thirty eight, if you are to go by the age of my body." He relented casually.

Zelda blinked, her ears perking up some with interest as she lifted her chin slightly out of her hands. "What do you mean by that?" She questioned immediately, conspiracy shining in her eyes. "You have more than one age, don't you?" The child's aura practically leapt to life with an excited shimmer.

Goddesses, he loved that look of adoration and wonder—Zelda seemed so taken with him at times, it bordered on obsession… perhaps even worship, on the odd occasion. The way the child would marvel at, what were to him, innocuous and trivial things that had long worn out their interest. He supposed he'd grown used to reverence, and the acceptance others held for his abilities and accomplishments; since his rule, and even for some time before that, he relished the fear in his enemies' eyes and the scorn of the world upon his back as he did whatever he pleased. He was capable of it where others were not. Wicked and wild winds followed in his wake, blowing down castle doors as he took any crown he desired as his own, renowned for his ruthlessness and adept tactics. But over the course of seven long years, even these empowering feats grew dull, losing their appeal as he continued to climb toward an ideal that may not even exist.

He'd hit the metaphorical wall long ago, and in his imprisonment, he had all the time he needed to reflect upon this. Things he once craved, thrived on, were akin to monotonous, menial repetitions now that Power had augmented his existence to higher levels. The sparks of his rise faded quickly, and this world was hard pressed to keep up with his expectations of entertainment and satisfaction. It was the very reason he'd put himself through any of this—Chasing the next level, as ever, like an opium addict trying to reclaim their first high.

This child, this Zelda of his, she had a way of making things… interesting again, and the possibilities were endless in his mind. The Gerudo hadn't decided on what lay in store for her beyond her sixteenth year, but moments like this convinced him that she'd be a wonderful source of entertainment, even then.

In a rare, and even risky, moment of self indulgence with the child, Ganondorf grinned slyly down at her, the rim of the glass poised at his lips.

"I do." He offered tantalizingly, pausing to take a long draught of the warming liquid. "I have lived for quite an extensive amount of time; longer than is… Natural."

The Princess regarded him, her head tilted slightly as her eyes narrowed some, a proud sort of half smile taking her lips. "I knew it." She whispered haughtily. "I knew Talleday was wrong. You knew the Hero of Time, didn't you?"

She saw recognition flash in his eyes and immediately, Zelda felt this was confirmation enough before Sheik had even answered. The man's biceps even tensed for a moment, and though her attention remained on them a little longer than it should have, she caught the tell.

The Gerudo peered into the glass, rapping a finger upon the side of it in consideration. To give that information away could prove to be his downfall later, as much as it could unlock her undying loyalty. But it was more than likely that his true identity would be revealed when she came of age and he acted to take Wisdom; her loyalty to him would be crucial, then, if things were to go smoothly.

With this in mind, Ganondorf gave a curt nod, glancing at her with a light, nostalgic smile. "…I knew him very well, Zelda. He and I traveled the same places, met the same people… Shared a destiny…" He rumbled low, speaking with truth though it was tailored slightly. "Just as I knew your ancestor… But there is no comparison to be made. Impressive as she was in her elements, we never saw eye to eye."

Zelda's attention was unwavering in its intensity, as if the girl believed that, should she stare at him long enough, she might see the past. She smiled brightly, enthralled with the confirmation, and feeling flattered—_Did he just affirm my worthiness of the holy relic?_

Cradling her chin in her palm, Zelda gave an appreciative sigh. "I wish I could visit memories like that… of such an exciting age."

Ganondorf, seeing an opportunity, swiftly drank the remnants of his brandy, setting the empty glass down upon the sheets carefully. He sent her a fond and thoughtful look, taking great care to school his features, as his fingers tugged at the bunched material about his neck and shoulders, pulling the collar back to reach inside.

"Perhaps you cannot remember as I can… But, I have something that may remind you in time, with Wisdom's aid."

Slowly, he removed his hand, clasped as it was—What the Princess did not see was that the Gerudo had crafted this object within the few moments his hand was hidden from sight. He held it out to her, his fingers slowly unfurling to reveal a small golden pendant, a Shiekan eye like the symbol upon his chest, with a thin and dainty chain coiled beneath it. It shimmered in the daylight shining from the open window, winking at her with a familiar call, delicately crafted with a shimmering red stone set in the iris.

The tiny Princess could only stare at the beautiful necklace, in its elegant simplicity, sitting in the Shiekah's palm. It was so unlike her crown—cut to mirror overstated intention with hefty jewels encrusted within the linked gold pieces, flashy and overbearing… It had never seemed to suit her, oversized and overwhelming as it was. This pendant, so delicate and fragile, though imposing; it held a force, a vast power of authority, genuine and meaningful. _Truth,_ she thought, reaching out hesitantly as if it may disappear, _The Truth of my heritage…of the nature of all things and of myself._

Taking it in tiny, slender fingers, the fragile chain slipping across Ganondorf's palm like a serpent in the sands of the desert, Zelda felt a spark when she touched it. Her thumb gently brushed the symbol, crystalline eyes taking in the detail as if seeing it for the first time—She could feel him through it, she swore she could. The Princess felt connected somehow, to the Shiekah, to the man beside her, to the shadows, instantly as the pads of her fingers caressed the precious metal in awe.

_Like a key, to a door I've not yet found…_

A humble smile took her lips, her body calm and still as her gaze rose to meet his once more. "Thank you, Sheik…"

Almost charmed by her smile, Ganondorf took a moment to bask in this moment—once Zelda put that on, it would never come off… Not by her own hand or anyone else's. He knew she would never remove it willingly; the look on her face spoke volumes to that. But should she ever try, for whatever reason, she would find the urge dying within the instant she touched it, and should anyone else try it the Princess would be spurred into an aggressive possessiveness. With it, the girl would be within his mind's reach at all times, he would find her anywhere… A shame he did not have the full extent of his magical abilities at hand in Power's absence, or he might've also been able to see her thoughts.

His own smile crept across his lips, his eyes bright with anticipation, as twitching fingers moved to her hands. Taking the chain, Zelda's eyes never left the pendant, almost hypnotically watching it as it spun slowly in front of her, held aloft.

"This is my gift to you, Zelda. Something I should have been there to give you on the day you entered this world…"

Slowly, Ganondorf unclasped the chain, bringing either side to rejoin around the child's slender neck. "But, I was not there throughout your childhood… And for that I apologize." With a simple gesture, the chain was fastened, never to leave its new home. "I give this to you as a woman, now. Let it remind you of yourself, in that you are as you should be, no matter what any other may say or think."

As the Princess gazed up at him with adulation, content and proud, he flashed a grin that was not unlike his true self.

"It's you and I against the world, child."

Zelda, vindicated and filled with a new sense of belonging and pride, let her fingers dance upon her collarbone, drawing new strength from this most precious gift. Her heart flickered for her companion as it had many times before, though in this moment, the Princess realized that it now beat for him as a woman and no longer a child. She almost dismissed such a thought, but staring into those crimson eyes with the many things they held, there it was again—Her spirit leapt to life with something unknown. She smiled joyfully, shaking her head with a light giggle.

_I'm not a child anymore._

**A/N: So very tired… I've been so busy or tired lately, I made you guys wait for ages… Sorry.**

**This was done about a week ago, and I totally forgot to upload. Derp.**

**Some bits are better than others, forgive me, it was written in about four chunks on different days and differing levels of lucidity. I have a bad habit of insomnia… 6am start, stay up till 2am, sleep, wake up at 5am-ish, go to work again at 6am. A couple of days like that this week, ha.**

…**And then I'm expected to have a social life and dragged out by friends… Who are under the sneaking suspicion that I'm a vampire now, apparently, due to my reaction to light, my night-owl-ness and my antisocial "Go away, sleeping" excuse for everything.**

**Anyway, ranting, sorry for the delay.**


	8. Played Like a Violin

The horrid screech of a misplayed note rolled with a shudder across the grass of the gardens, sending any of the creatures that normally gathered—birds, butterflies, and even the odd squirrel—scattering off to hide within the foliage. The hideous tone was as loud and obnoxious as it was implacable; very few would be able to guess, from afar, that it belonged to a badly played violin.

Curled up near the rose bushes, legs tucked beneath her, sat the Princess. Being a pleasant sort of day, golden tresses were pinned back to fall over her shoulders in graceful curls, unencumbered with the absence of shoulder plates. White lace and delicate silver embroidery subtly lined the spring inspired frock, sleeves about her upper arms in cute puffs as the child's beauty shone through the simplicity. With the serene instrument tucked under her glass-like jaw, slender fingers dancing upon the taught strings—like the light of day upon the grand lakes—as fluid movements drew the bow, Zelda looked the picture of angelic elegance.

Such a shame that the notes were not of the lyrical majesty to match her.

Pausing with a sigh, crystalline eyes glossed over the bow suspiciously. It had been powdered several times today, and yet it still refused to sing upon the strings. _What am I doing wrong?_ She thought, a perplexed frown creasing her brow, _I know this is how the musicians play, and I have seen them move like this…_ She had always loved music, and the sweet, mournful cry of a violin had swayed her want for one. Even still, it seemed the Princess had underestimated the instruments difficulty.

Rolling her shoulder as the violin was readjusted upon her collarbone, Zelda drew a deep breath, thinking of the tune she wanted to play. Her fingers twiddled about, finding her bow-hand comfortably as her grip settled lightly, preparing to try again. She focused with a calm and expectant air, with all the poise of a life-long violinist; however, as the bow slowly slid across the strings once more, the air was pierced again by the shrill, scraping sound.

Zelda winced, her ears twitching with distain. "Oh, blast it, I give up…" She hissed to herself, tossing the bow unceremoniously to the grass as she set the instrument down beside her and slumped back to lay there, peering up at the clouds.

A regal chuckle drifted slowly to her, light footfalls upon the tufted grass drawing near with a small entourage. "By the Gods' mercy, Zelda, here I be, placed in a bewilderment!"

Cocking her head, the Princess caught sight of the King approaching her, a gentle smile giving his sharp features a light of good humour. She immediately sat up, her frock ruffling in her eager haste as the girl assumed a proper posture before her father.

"Upon the wind I swore I heard the tainted cry of the undead wailing," He teased, eying the forlorn instrument with amusement, "and yet, here I find my wayward daughter, settled and content within the gardens, practicing the violin with all the forbearance of a distinguished young lady."

Even as the Princess gave a pout of disapproval, the King's smile did not fade. "Little miracles…" He chimed with a proud purr.

Offended and perhaps a little embarrassed as she was though, Zelda did not miss her father's attire—Lush greens and browns, not unlike homage to the Hero of Time, decorated subtly, with dual-strapped leather boots and immaculate new riding pants. Upon his back was strapped a superior looking quiver, gold filigree lacing the wood indulgently though it was bereft of arrows, taking the place of a cape. To his left, one of the soldiers held the rest of his effects, a bundle of arrows tucked under his arm as he stoically held the King's bow, reduced to little more than a Hylian shelf as he stood ready with a comical amount of duty set into his eyes.

The Princess' cute face contorted into a saddened look of disappointment, though she hid it quickly behind a small smile. "…Going on the hunt, today, Father?"

For the briefest moment, Zelda had entertained the hope that he might be joining her in the garden, and internally scolded herself for it; _I should know better._ Her mind replayed the comparison between her playing and the 'wailing of the undead', as her gaze wandered across the emotionless soldiers. Rigid yes-men, more for show than anything—Did her father never wish for more… tangible company? Not even his own daughter, who could at least manage a returned smile?

"Yes, I shall be heading about the canyons in Eldin. Seems that some of the wild boars are out in show…" The King's gaze turned to his sleeves as he adjusted the cuffs with stern propriety. "If I come across any of the horses in the fields, perhaps we will add another pony to your collection? That ought to cheer you from all the nasty business of late, now, shouldn't it?" His cool blue eyes shone with charm and warmth.

"I know how you admire the wild nature of the noble beasts, untamed, though I do wish you might ride them more often once broken in, Dearest." He added negligently, squaring his shoulders proudly as his attention returned to her, appraising her neat state of dress. Not a hair out of place, just as he preferred.

Zelda shifted some, uncomfortable under his scrutiny as a hand rose to brush a few tresses back over her shoulder, engaging it to ward off the fidgeting that so irked her father. Her smile faltered slightly, a sympathetic and reflective look in its place. _Another pony,_ she thought with some distaste, _I suppose he thinks adding to a menagerie of animal company serves as a good distraction to his absence, from day to day…_

"Thank you, but no… Not to sound out of place father, but to break such spirit for something as trivial as a compliant source of entertainment seems… unfair." She started slowly, careful not to sound ungrateful. "I would much prefer to go with you, one of these days, and see the wild horses as they are meant to be… free, that is…"

Seeing the arched brow sent her way, she sighed lightly under her breath. "That is the magic of it; a wild horse broken in is no longer wild, you see… I suppose you could say that I don't believe you can harness such a spirit and keep it intact."

The King stared at her a moment, his thick brows creased in a casual consideration as his hands retreated behind his back to be held there. "Yes, I suppose not…" He conceded dismissively, glancing at the rose bushes. "…Perhaps another time. You have a very odd way of seeing the world, for one so young. Such peculiar thoughts you entertain… " He chuckled.

The Princess had noted the approving way he'd looked at her, while playing the violin. It occurred to her that it didn't matter how well she played, despite his comment, it was the fact that she did play. A sense of normality and decorum, usual for a young lady of class—seeing that in her was all that mattered to her father and the council. It seemed even her subtle hints, testing the waters, were lost on him. _Sheik was correct, _she thought with some sadness, _to them I am like the wild horse that is to be broken in and saddled, tame…It is he and I against the world._ No regard for the beauty of the creature, or the pride it held, or the spirited life it may lead… It was as but a beast, unrefined and unpolished, until it was captured, disciplined and put to the use of its master. Just as she would be, if she were to go along quietly.

With a jovial laugh, and a stilted echo of the sound as it chorused about the guards in turn, her father gave her a final smile. "I'll leave you to continue your practice… remember, dearest, the violin is an instrument of patience and grace, you will get there eventually if you are to keep at it like that. I'm so pleased to see that you've changed your mind back to learning it… I'll have Kerrigan reassigned to tutor you."

Such a stoic pride and appreciation were held in that smile he gave, and it made Zelda's stomach twist with shame—He had such hope in her finally showing some semblance of what he wished her to be, she hadn't the heart to tell him that he'd once again caught her in a moment of whimsy. Picking up the instrument beside her once more with a sweet smile, she nodded.

"I look forward to it, Father. Perhaps I shall play for you at the next ball." She forced out, the hint of a lie bittersweet upon her tongue.

"Capital idea, Zelda." He chimed, turning with a stately movement on one heel. "I will discuss it with the council; we have yet to plan your presentation, also… An aria would suit that evening nicely… Now, be good. I shall return by sundown."

Crystalline eyes watched with a hollow stare as the King and his men walked away, their steps matching with a slow and almost ceremonial gait, as her position froze to give a tableau of a girl eager to continue with the bow poised ready to play. Delicate features were that of a sprightly young woman, reinvigorated by the encouragement of her father and the promise of a gift horse, though inside, Zelda's heart sank to a new level. It was not until the brigade faded from her view entirely did the Princess release a breath she didn't realize she was holding, allowing her pose to relax as the violin slumped upon the hollow of her neck.

"…I should've chosen a lyre…"

Her arm fell limply to the side to place the instrument upon the grass once more, done with it, as nervous fingers retracted to her neckline. The refreshing coolness of the pendant brushed along her collarbone as she toyed with it, idle; her father hadn't even noticed the necklace Sheik had gifted her. Even if he had, Zelda doubted its meaning would've been understood properly.

Something so precious to her, worn without fail, had yet to attract even the attention of those closest to her over the last week—only the handmaidens who dressed her had commented on it, curious only for the value of the jewelry and nothing more. They'd not even batted an eyelid when the Princess had refused to take it off at night.

Since wearing the pendant, however, Zelda had ruminated upon at great length. A world of information, locked away within the fragile slivers of gold, lay at her fingertips—she needed only grasp it to feel a part of something larger than herself, and her current role. So long had the Princess felt isolated and misrepresented, it seemed only now was she beginning to see the true extent of it through the appearance of her attendant. With the eye of truth literally hanging around her neck, the reality of things she'd somewhat blinded herself to were becoming more obvious each day.

The King had never been exceptionally close to her, and Zelda had conceded within herself that she'd pushed him away after her mother's death, in explaining their current distance. But now, she was beginning to see that, in fact, they shared less of a distant relationship and more of a mutual agreement—she would honor him by presenting herself as an acceptable future leader, and he acknowledged whatever she had to offer, resigned to the fact that she was his only viable option. He didn't know her, and though he may pretend to or seem as if he wished to be closer to her, Zelda was starting to realize that he gave her the same façade he did anyone else as King. The fact of the matter was that she didn't know him either, and probably never would.

Like the violin beside her, the King's relationship with his daughter would forever remain one of badly played notes and faded interest, unpracticed and unprogressive, left to gather dust upon a castle shelf for show.

Picking herself up slowly, the Princess glanced about the garden, feeling empty and somewhat bored. Tilting her head to cast a final glare toward the forlorn instrument, delicate brows furrowed in thought—If she was not to study music at this time each day, what would replace it? A hand folded beneath her chin as crystalline eyes shot skyward.

"…I know it would be preferred that I learn to play, but... I don't care for it." She sighed to herself, conversationally. _There's little use in musical ability if there isn't a passion there to fuel it._

With a light shrug, Zelda bent to retrieve the violin, a mischievous smile taking her lips as a thought struck her: _I could ask Sheik._ It was the perfect excuse to go and find him; she would be able to spend a good hour or so in his company, too, and he wouldn't be able to send her away for her lessons… _Not if I'm there to consult with him about changing them._

It was brilliant.

And so it was that the tiny Princess tottered off through the hedge maze, knowing the correct route as well as the back of her own hand, violin swaying lightly at her side as it was held by lazy fingers.

Meanwhile, within the western court, in the shadows of the stone walling about the training grounds, Ganondorf watched feeble young men—most of them far too timid and cowardly in nature to be soldiers in the first place—put their skills to the test against the various trials there. Those fools who thought themselves swordsmen would pander about, sleek dashes of silver running by, slashing with a different stance each time upon seven wooden pillars. The men without the physical fortitude for such repetitively taxing movement trained with spears and staves, pitifully trying to improve the accuracy and velocity of their throws against straw filled dummies; very few hit the painted targets with a grade that seemed passable to the Gerudo.

A tiny and largely unremarkable archery range lay in the next area, beyond another wall to the north and visible to him through large archways. Taking into account the sound of misfires and arrowheads hitting the thicket, it was in Ganondorf's strong opinion that the most impressive thing in that view was the stone-masonry of the arches. It was ironic the way they jeered at each other, saying things like 'you shoot like my sister' among other sexist remarks, when indeed the Gerudo could call upon even his most frail sister to leave them in awe of her archery skill.

Scoffing lightly at the thought, his unenthused crimson gaze wandered some, accompanied by impatient fingers rapping upon a bicep. There was little point in joining the other men in training—they would only get in the way or slow him down, and anything he did here would be talked about for at least a few weeks among the prattling upperclassmen. He was already regarded as a bit of a myth, with wild rumours of his Shiekan abilities and guesses as to his past floating about. One tale actually posited that he was born of the Princess' shadow itself, leaping into existence to stave off danger.

If he wasn't mistaken, along with the curiosity surrounding him, there also seemed to be a cautious aversion. People feared what they didn't know or understand, and though it was perhaps not a conscious fear yet, Ganondorf was pleased and quite content with the wide berth he was given personally. _Any interaction I can pass by with these idiots is a gift,_ he thought cynically, eyeing one particular soldier as he failed dismally to parry another's haphazard slash.

He was torn from such thoughts however, when his nose twitched, a tingle coursing through his spine. His large frame jolted with the still unfamiliar feeling of being tethered to another in such a fashion, as his mind cleared to remember—The pendant; Zelda was near, and approaching quickly.

_That's odd, _he wondered, his attention turning to the direction where her presence tugged at his consciousness, _What is she doing? She was in the gardens not half an hour ago…_

With a last fleeting look around the training grounds, the disguised Gerudo lazily kicked off the wall to stalk off in search of the wayward girl once more. Rounding into a smaller courtyard, he spotted her nearby the steps to the lower levels of the gardens, wandering in search of something by a marbled fountain. It was clear by the lost expression on her cute face that the Princess had no set destination, and from experience, Ganondorf surmised that she was in fact looking for him, seeing her gaze sweep the sentry posts briefly.

His posture shifted into something of a predatory stance as he drew closer to her position, shifting silently behind the girl as he came down from the higher plateau, so as not to be caught by any peripheral glance. It was a strange habit he had, though enjoyable, to sneak up on her—after all, he was in the guise of a Shiekah. Appearing unexpectedly was a notable trait of theirs, and it never hurt to be diligent in his masquerade, though he'd be lying if he said that it wasn't his favorite trait to be taken from them. Perhaps it was a remnant of the mischievous, sly prince he had been in his youth.

Ganondorf's muscles lost their usual tension as he slipped into her shadow, limber, slinking past the last few stone steps and onto the grass. He was close enough now to reach out and brush the silky blonde tresses adorning her head—like a crown of its own, shimmering in the sun like spun gold, the urge to actually do so was almost overwhelming. A sweet hum rolled from her throat as well, her tiny frame swaying lightly to the sound as her gaze traveled the grounds, unaware of his presence. Subduing the strange whim, the Gerudo busied the hand to stop any such offense by folding muscled arms across his chest.

Clearing his throat loudly, the Princess squeaked with a slight jump at the sound, spinning around to stare vacantly at his midsection before crystalline eyes rose to meet crimson with a blink.

"Looking for something?" He questioned haughtily, raising a silver brow to smirk down at her.

Zelda, who had also dropped the violin in her surprise, gave a pouting frown and smoothed out her frock hurriedly, before mirroring his stance. "Stop doing that." She huffed.

A dark and rich chuckle rumbled lightly, genuinely amused, as Ganondorf stared down at her. "I'm disinclined to oblige you on that one, Zelda, perhaps I might offer an alternative." He said, the words easing arrogantly through his teeth with a delicious tint.

"Instead of my stopping, why not simply grow more aware of yourself and your surroundings, hmm? An assassin after your throat would have slit it by now, and silently slipped away—If such a fate befell the Captain, you, being a more valuable target, wouldn't have a hope in Hell."

The Princess blinked again, her indignation at being startled quickly replaced by a blanched and nervous look. With a quizzical incline of her head, Zelda's eyes narrowed briefly, intrigued by such a dark suggestion. "…I have no need to worry about such a thing, with you around. Or at least, that was my understanding of it; an assassin would never get close enough to cleave a single hair of mine, without meeting a swift death of his own."

A strange itch surged through him as a feral grin wormed its way across his lips, a glint of gold shimmering unnoticed in the Gerudo's eyes for only an instant. "…What if I was the assassin?" Such a dangerous thought to speak out loud, and yet Ganondorf couldn't resist the tug toward the darkest corner of his mind, a flash of guilty pride gained from it.

She stared up at him with eyes widened in contemplation, pointed ears twitching as if unsure they'd heard correctly. Behind the Princess' irises swam quite a few things, suspicion, thrilled attraction and perhaps a little fear—Ultimately though, the loyalty Ganondorf had placed in the child shone through, as always.

After a moment, Zelda's shoulders relaxed to allow a cheeky sort of smile. "That would put you out of a job, Sheik." She snickered, apparently finding a streak of black humour within herself.

The Gerudo's head tilted back with a wicked cackle, brief though it was, the long silver plat swaying behind him as he quickly regained himself with a short, amused grunt. "I suppose it would indeed."

"And," She jibed, pointing a tiny finger at him with a sly look, the other hand settled on her hip, "That would also leave you without purpose. Remember? You told me that your entire reason for being was to protect me; be it from assassins or the Evil King himself."

Ganondorf's thick brows rose with some surprise, though he contained it well within a slight condescension. "Oh, you remember that do you? But, conveniently forget to keep elbows off tables, which I've told you a thousand times?"

"A thousand and one, actually." She shot back with a grin, deflecting it easily with a confident sweep of her hand pulling a blonde lock over her ear.

"Then it's a thousand times too many." He chided, flashing her a light grimace before crimson eyes scanned the area for onlookers briefly, returning to her with a question in them.

"…You managed to slip away from the gardens without raising the alarm of any tutors or guards. I commend your impressive stealth. Now, what is it that you want?" He said slowly, authority creeping into the timbre of his voice.

Settling from her banter with an immediate response to his shift in tone, Zelda cast the violin a glance, speaking truthfully as she bent to retrieve it. "Father wants me to learn an instrument, and to appease him I took up violin. Initially, I didn't mind the thought but… I cannot play it at all. He said it sounded like 'the wailing of the undead'."

She sighed, her fingers gliding over the stings almost longingly as she held it tentatively, straightening to shift her weight lightly from foot to foot. "So, I've decided to change my lesson to something more practical, and I came to find you and consult you about it."

Ganondorf considered this, a fire leaping to life within him at the prospect of free time in which to finally train the girl. But before he could so much as hum thoughtfully, Zelda was once again staring at him intently with suspiciously curious eyes.

"…How did you know I was about the gardens, if you were here, overseeing the soldiers while I was on the opposite side of the grounds?" She questioned, her lyrical tone low with conspiracy.

Without missing a beat, the Gerudo responded, relieved to find the usual jolt of panic absent this time. She was growing more observant everyday, and he was becoming more expectant to match that growth, often simply guiding her to answer her own questions. "The same reason that you seem so confident no harm will come to you under the watchful eyes of a Shiekah." He offered curtly, leaving the ball in her court.

Zelda held the look, continuing her scrutiny of him as her mind worked in the supposed Shiekah's favour. Crystalline eyes wavered over him, tracing the very lines of his face to aid her deduction, before finally, she came to accept his response. _One of these days, I will figure him out, _she thought, resolute in solving this riddle of a man, _I swear I will._

Serving him reprieve on a silver platter, her answer came swiftly with a studious finality, her posture straightening momentarily as if a pupil appealed to a master. "Shiekan eyes see the truth, both supernaturally and logically, through way of visions and the reading of others."

That same self satisfied smirk appeared on the Gerudo's mouth again, pleased with the knowledge that his subtle conditioning was working. "I couldn't have said it better myself, Zelda." _…Indeed, I truly couldn't have. Thank the Gods for such Wisdom blinkered by the naivety of youth._

The Princess' ears perked up at his light praise, a rewarded smile showing off perfectly set teeth, as her hands clutched the violin close to her chest with a momentary, prideful glee. Her frock fluttered about her knees as childish habit allowed a single, excitable hop before the bright smile and an outstretched hand demanded the Gerudo's attention.

Unfurling muscled arms from his chest, Ganondorf allowed the girl's tiny digits to coil about his wrist, clinging as she eagerly guided their steps into a light stroll. Unconsciously, his gaze turned to watch the golden curls bounce lightly with her movement, the hair feathering lightly at the edge of her jaw with a hypnotizing sway. He might have been concerned to catch himself once again silently enraptured by the features of a child, if not for the Princess' business like turn in attitude, her regal status shining through as she held her chin high.

"Back to the matter at hand… I still need to replace my musical lessons with something more practical. As you can probably guess, I need your help on this, because father's opinion of a Lady possessing musical ability in their elegance is set in stone." Zelda sighed, drawing closer to wrap her arm more comfortably around his, in a similar manner to one in courting. "I thought I could compromise by learning to play the lyre when I'm older, but I'll need some definite support if I'm to replace the free lesson with something vaguely interesting, let alone anything I actually like."

Ganondorf was content for the moment to let the child prattle on, making use of his selective hearing to listen to soothing trickle of the fountain as they passed it. Admittedly, he loved that sound too much to let it go unheard, no matter the cost—in times of old, there were several important talks with the King that were held without hostility, his anger staved off by the simple fact that the small waterway of the courtyard outside was within earshot and view. He'd often find himself looking out of the window, allowing his eyes to feast upon the controlled river of liquid gold, running through the grand castle's gardens. Indeed, within the earliest days, it was this fact that may well have guided his quill upon the treaties signed, regardless of his future betrayals. It was also this habit that allowed him to first set eyes upon Link, so many years ago.

Within the fleeting sense of serenity, his calm mind knitted together the conditions at hand to devise a mutual solution—One that would satisfy himself, his ward and even her anal father. Carrying on from the subjects of their banter to replay them in his memory, the decisive click of his tongue signaled the start of this crucial proposition.

"A lyre… That is an interesting choice. I assume you plucked that idea straight out of a history book."

The Princess' gaze shot skyward, evasively. "Perhaps… I know my ancestors played, and I'll admit, I was somewhat hopeful that I might inherit the memory of how to do so as well…" A slight tensing within her small frame served to show some withdrawal. "…But, that's probably overly optimistic, isn't it?" She conceded quietly.

Shaking his head, Ganondorf cocked a brow at her, inclining to show her a reassuring look. "Not at all. It is very possible, and far more likely that you'll pick up skill with a lyre than a violin naturally, either way."

With a faint shimmer of hope in her eyes, she looked up at him, cozying up to his arm warmly. "…Legends say… you played the lyre to aid the Hero of Time… If that's true, perhaps you could teach me?" She asked, a slight pleading tone to her sweet voice.

_By the Gods, really? _He thought, taken aback by the sudden thought of himself playing such a feminine instrument—a man of his stature and strength, plucking delicate strings with grace? That was a far cry from the lively, spirited twang of a Gerudo guitar, or the somber, strong tones of a mighty pipe organ. While he was culturally inclined enough to teach her music, assuredly, there was no way he could play a lyre before the child convincingly enough that her suspicion wouldn't be raised. But he had already consigned himself to living within the same era as the Hero, and so, he had marked himself as 'the' Sheik; _Who apparently played a lyre…Trust a Princess to disguise themselves as a man and yet, play a harp, _he thought cynically.

Sidestepping it quickly, he gave a self depreciating chuckle. "…I was much younger in those days… I doubt I'd still be suited for it, after all these years of battle and hardship, Zelda… Though, I can instruct you as you gain a feel for it."

Thankfully, this offer seemed to be taken with enthusiasm rather than disappointment. "Really? Oh, thank you!" The girl chimed happily, relieved. _I don't know what is better, _she thought, _more time with Sheik, or less time with Kerrigan._

Sighing silently to himself and feeling as if he'd just dodged a light arrow, Ganondorf's weathered features took on a seriousness that closely matched his usual scowl, though lightened some.

"But, Zelda, all musical inclinations aside, a delicate point has been raised today." He broached slowly, careful to be sure the girl was paying attention. "While I will do whatever is necessary to guard you from danger, if ever there came a time when I was unable to get to you for an unknown reason… In your current state, you would have no way to defend yourself until I arrived—"

He paused to give her a pointed glance. "—If I were able to come at all."

With those last words uttered, the pair came to a halt at the edges of the cobblestone square that acted as the final threshold before the main gates. Using it to further illustrate his point, opportunistically, the Gerudo gestured towards it in a manner that ensured Zelda's crystalline gaze followed.

"Beyond that gate lies a world unknown to you. Wise though you are destined to be, there is a heavy price to be paid if you are to stumble, unprepared, into the gaping maw of that gate—to you, child, that gate is the mouth of a hungry beast at the ready to devour your innocence."

The Princess peered up at him momentarily, considerate though perhaps somewhat skeptical, before her gaze returned to the imposing iron of the gates. For a few years, she had looked upon them, yearning for more freedom and feeling a pull toward them, as if something called her out. But not once had she stood before them, as the massive doors stretched skyward to tower overhead, and truly felt so small. From her window, under the morning sun, this barrier to the outside word indeed seemed such a trifle, the vision could be cupped within her hand; it was easy to forget the frail, understated feeling one experienced at the threshold, on the precipice of a personal unknown.

As a heavy hand settled upon her shoulder, warm with a firm yet gentle hold, Zelda's memories drifted to the day Sheik had appeared. So long ago it seemed now, distant, she had all but forgotten the fear that had pierced her heart during the festival. The hopeless view of a thundering dark stallion as it tore through the crowd in a mad dash, three times her height and eyes glazed, ready to shatter her body beneath it like glass. Indeed, not an hour after she had reached the outside of these gates alone, fate had taken a snap at her, threatening her with a harsh warning—She may be a beloved princess, but away from castle walls, she was naught but a small and helpless child.

As if sensing such reflections, Ganondorf flexed his fingers comfortingly upon her skin, his rich voice pulling her back from the brief reverie.

"But, I intend to change that…" He spoke quietly, an eerie hint to his tone as crimson eyes traced the curls of her hair once more. "You have Shiekan blood running through your veins. Warrior's blood, proud and strong… locked up behind the façade of a porcelain Princess. You're father wishes you to learn an instrument, and I will teach you to play, Zelda. But I intend to instruct you on two kinds."

Her attention snapped back to his face as she turned her head to look, a curious confusion lacing her cute features as her brow furrowed towards him. "Two…?"

His eyes connected with hers, an icy conviction in them as a cruel and devious sort f smile took his lips. "Yes. The lyre is your choice… blades; mine."

Zelda's breath hitched briefly with an excitement and dread, as her mind ran wild with only these few, tantalizing words—He was to train her, just as she had hoped. She would be more than she felt, capable and self assured. A deadly beauty with control over her own wellbeing, powerful by herself and not only by the crown… and yet, this would be a private arrangement, surely, for if anyone caught either of them there would be all hell to pay. By decree, a Princess was not even allowed instruction in fencing until the age of fifteen, and only in times of political uncertainty, to show 'strength' as a precursor to their leadership ability.

Shifting, Zelda's posture slowly straightened with determination, a fragile hand rising to cover the disguised Gerudo's atop her shoulder, as crystalline eyes turned once more to the gates. She spoke softly, a wise and calm expression settling upon her countenance.

"If we are to get away with that, in secrecy, we will be leaving the grounds each day, will we not? …Away from my father, and the council's prying eyes and invasive opinions?"

Ganondorf nodded silently, marveling at how well the child now responded to him on all accounts. In such a short time, she was willing to betray even her own father's expectations of her, throwing her usual life to the wayside and making way for anything he proposed, no matter how outlandish. This Zelda of his was even willing to lie, taking on risks that could prove entirely detrimental, to sneak away from her home and forgo her own levels of comfort… all on the promise of his attention and faith in her.

_When I take this country, _he thought, in a rare bout of generosity, _she will share the spoils. _Zelda was earning her place beside him, and he would remember her efforts and loyalties even under the crown. There had been very few in this world who would be worthy of his attention, let alone his personal service, but the young Princess was an invaluable key to his rise, cooperative and devoted, and for that role he would be sure to reward her.

"Yes, that would be the most promising option, if I am to teach you, undisturbed. We will hone some of your magical abilities also… Perhaps healing, I don't doubt that bruises and scrapes will be noticed over time." He said thoughtfully, his gaze running over the patterns embossed within the iron. "I can manage concealing most injuries, but it would be preferable if you could both handle yourself in combat, and heal yourself thereafter."

The Princess' slender fingers, which had slipped away from the Ganondorf's hand to become idle at her side, began to comb and toy with the soft fabric of her frock as her mind worked upon this proposition. Teeth raked gently over her icy pink lip in thought, running over her schedules and the long list of those she interacted with daily, on a strict mental path of elimination to find the most suitable times to abscond with Sheik. Her lessons in arithmetic could be drawn forward, earlier in the mornings, calligraphy could stay in its original time slot… account for meals, about an hours worth of flexible time for any event or meeting that she was drawn in on, like an artifact to be shown off at her father's side. The dialects of the fiefdoms could be taken in the afternoons, as well, and after a moment, she quickly found a suitable plan forming, the forlorn violin lightly tapping her thigh.

"If we are to cover up our training with my playing the lyre by your instruction, and negotiate around two hours for the lesson, I will request to take it last." She finally proposed, inclining her head to look up at the Shiekah. "Then it is simply a matter of returning before nightfall… Since it is to be taken after dinner, everyone should be satisfied enough that they had seen me take my meal, it shouldn't be noticed that I'm not within the grounds until dark."

Ganondorf smiled down at her, pleased with her cunning. If he could expand upon these traits she held for deception, Zelda may well become his most powerful second-hand yet. Crimson eyes turned back to the vision of the imposing castle, past the monolithic sculpture of the royal crest.

"I couldn't agree more." He conceded proudly, an odd fondness seeping through. "They will not notice us if we are to slip back into your room each day from outside… You can also hide any fatigue this way."

With a dark sounding chuckle, the Gerudo's hand gave her shoulder a light and praising pat, before his arms folded upon his chest once again. "The pitiful errands and study regime these fools have you follow makes me forget your cleverness, sometimes, Zelda." He grinned down at her, receiving the bright smile he had come to like in turn. "How refreshing to see I allow it to be unleashed, unabated."

Zelda held a victorious sort of charm as she turned, a slight skip spurring her steps as the two started off, to make the changes they had planned. The violin's bow was turned into a pretend sword with a giggle as she went, swishing playfully at the air, never to touch the stings of its partner again.

**A/N: **

**Been a while, I know. I've put this chapter together in my most lucid moments since the last one. **

**Shane at work had to go to Adelaide, because his baby was born premature, so at work, things have been really high strung trying to keep things together without him, and another girl is on holiday, too, all the while we're training newbs.**

**So, I've not really had a lot of sleep or spare time. Three days off got turned into work, heh, and I've got more shifts to cover understandably.**

**Still, we're getting on in the story! Things will start changing pretty quickly now, and action is on the horizon! Wheee!**


	9. Reflections within a Blade

The few weeks that had passed seemed to cement Ganondorf's intentions, paving the way for a swift and effortless ascension to power in the few years to follow—Everything seemed to be going as planned, and each day he and the Princess only grew closer. As Zelda isolated her world to include just the two of them of late, she was easily picking up on the things he had to teach her with enthusiasm and diligence, while her attention did not stay long upon anything else. The girl hid her training remarkably well, considering how tired she was after the first few sessions, and though some of her other lessons suffered from her fatigue, most of her tutors simply put it down to boredom as usual.

The two of them had shut themselves off within the King's study, waiting for nightfall, until finally the girl's father arrived home from the hunt. Tired and victorious from a long day's riding and several kills, the King did not protest with the same vehemence as he usually would have; it did not take long, with the combined efforts of Ganondorf's and Zelda's manipulative abilities, to sway him. Caught away from the council in private and lax audience, Zelda was granted her instruction with the lyre and the shift in lessons—seeing them off, her father was even prone to proud words for her being honest about her interests… and relieved thoughts that she had a suitable instrument to replace violin.

Since then things had gone smoothly for both of them. Zelda's lyre was crafted and presented to her within three short days, her name engraved within the sleek golden frame, sapphires adorning the turning pins. Ganondorf had successfully taught the child to read sheet music, all the while having avoided playing the tiny harp. Instead he would whistle, as he had when he'd proven his connection to the family with her lullaby, and guide her in notes. Zelda didn't seem to mind this, and thankfully for the Gerudo, her autonomous and independent nature swiftly took hold, wanting to try her hand rather than be shown first.

This musical instruction was given in secret as well, late in the evenings, when Zelda was normally to be put to bed. The Princess relished in another hour to stay awake with a defiant excitement, extending her curfew each night and allowing her a brief respite between the training and the lyre.

Below the crumbling steps of the ruins overlooking Lake Hylia, fiery tones of the sunset dancing languidly upon the waters surface beneath the grand bridge, the Princess balanced atop a broken pillar on naught but the toes of her left foot. With her arms stretched wide like the wings of a soaring eagle, right knee bent high in front of her, the gentle breeze occasionally forced her to wobble precariously though she held fast.

She was dressed in special attire that her attendant had given her, of the same make and designs as his own, tight yet flexible upon her skin in alternating hues of grey and blue. Her golden tresses were pinned high at the top of her head, out of the way with only two curled wisps to fall in front of her pointed ears. Dread and strain were etched into her cute features as she stared down at the Shiekah, armed as he was with a particularly remorseless piece of metal, curved into a deadly blade.

"I really don't think I can do this, Sheik…" She squeaked nervously, crystalline eyes trained upon the dagger he held. "Isn't it good enough that I can balance upon it now?"

Ignoring the Princess' subtle pleas for relief, Ganondorf snorted derisively, toying with the knife between his fingers as he paced in front of her, like a wolf around its prey.

"No, it isn't. Three weeks, Zelda, and you have yet to learn dodging effectively." He growled low, bearing the sinister point of his canines. "This is the only thing I can think of that will ensure you do so swiftly."

As he came to a halt in front of her, peering up at the child with a wicked and innately evil expression, his lips cracked into a feral grin. Ah, the fear in those eyes, mingled with such hopeful trust… _Delicious, _he thought, grip tightening around the banded handle. The Gerudo could hear her swallow, nervous, as reluctance coursed through her and made her tremble lightly.

"Calm yourself and hold still." He barked, causing her to flinch and almost fall, as she struggled to comply.

"Now," He whispered coldly, "Like before with the rocks. When I throw, jump, dodge, and then land steady on the other foot. Got it?"

The Princess gave a hesitant nod, as Ganondorf's eyes grazed over the various bruises left from the rocks, leaving tears and bloodied scrapes on her legs even through the sturdy material.

"…There will be no second chances this time."

Slowly, the Gerudo's posture shifted as he drew a foot back, leaning forward to place his weight upon his front leg. It almost looked as if he would take off in a sprint, through he simply raised his hand, dagger at the ready and poised with the point in his fingers. Zelda swore she saw the golden glint flash in his eyes again, and as her frantic gaze traveled over him, seeing his muscles coiled tight beneath the Shiekah's garb, she was reminded of a deadly cobra ready to strike.

"N-no, no! Wait! I… Just… Just a second…!" She spluttered helplessly, as something in those eyes unnerved her and sent a fresh wave of fear rolling up her spine.

The only response given to her, however, was the sound of a blade slicing through the air as the disguised Gerudo's hand was as a streak of movement before her. For an instant, Zelda saw the world frozen in time—Her heartbeat heavy in her ears and her pulse thrumming through every inch of her, the glint of the setting sun burning brightly upon the blades kiss to the wind. The Shiekah's eyes a deathly crimson, like blood, with the fiery spark of gold flashing through them. Were those his eyes stained by cruelty she saw? …Or simply the sunset shining in them? For that fleeting moment, with all else simply forgotten, the intent in his movements and his gaze overwhelmed her.

With a shriek, Zelda's body moved of its own accord, throwing herself off of the high pillar and out of the blade's path. The edge of the knife skimmed the side of her calf painlessly, slicing through the skin tight material and leaving a streak of red in its wake, scattering fresh droplets of blood to the wind as she fell. The cracked and weathered stone drew close as she careened down towards it, her arms instinctively caging around her head to protect herself, though with a heavy impact her short flight came to its end. With a bruising crunch and a yelp of pain, her fragile body trembled with pain and shock as she lay crumpled, her limbs tucking into her as she curled.

Her ears twitched, a sharp sting settling in her leg from the cut, as Ganondorf's voice hissed through the air with an audible snarl.

"Get up."

Struggling, Zelda's hands sought the stone, pushing weakly against it to obey. Failing, a small sob choked out, as her mind returned to the memory of Talleday's passing, and the helpless feeling she had felt, unable to lift herself or stop the flow of tears.

_Ganondorf's crimson gaze flicked upward, taking a brief scan of those around, before moving to stand. Pulling the Princess up somewhat roughly, Zelda was met with a stern, commanding glance when her legs remained limp._

"_Get up and come with me." He growled low. "Dry your tears."_

_The girl's chest felt tight as the tears continued to fall, seemingly endless in their flow, and her cheeks felt flushed and sticky. Zelda commanded herself to follow this instruction, shifting as all of her strength was put into allowing him to right her, and stand upon her own feet. Her heart only sunk lower when her knees buckled beneath, leaving her to slump forward and cling to the large Shiekah's waist weakly._

"_I…c-can't… I…" She murmured, ashamed._

Shaking her head against the relentless memory, her resolve steeled, new strength flooding through her frame. _No… Never again…_ She thought desperately, pulling herself upward as shaky legs worked to kneel. _I have Shiekah blood in my veins…warrior's blood… _Gritting her teeth against the discomfort, she pushed herself upward, stumbling upon her feet as she righted herself. _I'm done with tears! I am better than that!_

Painfully straightening her posture, her shoulders squared as she steadied herself, ignoring the pain as the tears died within glossed eyes. With a moment to regain her breath, a shallow and even pace was set as a stoic glare was set to the sun, the last vestiges of light fading like embers upon the horizon as it sank below the distant desert dunes.

_This sun sets for me, on all my weakness and the mistakes I made, on the whims of others._

Ganondorf watched her like a hawk, surprised as something visibly snapped within the girl—He could see it in her eyes, something had changed. Not a sob or sigh to be heard from her… not a single tear had fallen, even broken and bleeding on the stone. His muscles flexed, rippling beneath the skin tight suit as the breeze caught him, silver hair swinging lightly in the braid behind him.

Perhaps it was superstitious of him, that he noted the sudden change in direction the wind took. It blew from the west. Never had he felt such a calm zephyr be born of the west, of his desert home, warm with a thousand familiar scents upon it. It was a peaceful omen, and perhaps, one sent to him. The tiny Princess, standing firm with her chin held high, despite her injuries, was at the ready to receive his order with strength and determination. The Gerudo's fingers flexed at his sides, twitching eagerly as a greedy smile took his lips.

She belonged to him and him alone now, unmistakably, without resistance or argument. Another tool in his arsenal, to use at his disposal, however he pleased… And she would be a powerful weapon indeed.

"Retrieve my blade." He ordered, that same twisted, proud smile on his worn features as the child immediately turned to do so, even going so far as to hide her limp.

Crimson eyes turned toward the sun as it finally disappeared, leaving only the streaking glow lining the horizon, turning the sands of his home to mountains of gold upon a string of fire. He turned, leaning a heavy hand against a massive block of carved stone, broken and worn as it was, to look.

"It's time to return. We can pick up again tomorrow." He called, seeing the thin form of the Shiekan-garbed Princess stalking back toward him with an awkward gait from the corner of his eye, his hand rising to rub his temple tiredly.

"No." Came a cold reply.

Craning his head in some shock, Ganondorf narrowed his eyes and a sneer bit out the word in repetition, as he stared the girl down. "No?"

Standing before him, with her normally cute features set into a scowl that mirrored his own, she hissed back, holding the blade out on the palm of her hand to be taken.

"I am not going anywhere until you throw this at me again."

The Gerudo's grip tightened upon the stone, cracking it lightly as he subdued the urge to backhand her for such an insolent tone. But drawing deep of the breeze, he calmed himself, eyeing here wearily before closing his eyes.

It was hard, when she acted so unlike herself, to remember that he was also not to act as himself. He couldn't deny she brought something primal and dangerous out of him in these sessions, competitive and controlling as he was reminded of his own warriors of old. She was of the age a Gerudo would undertake the trials, and he supposed subconsciously, he was affording her a similar set to overcome. His brutal nature and harsh manner when it came to combat was well respected in his own culture, and so ingrained in him, Ganondorf could not help that it came out unabated in his dealing with the girl's training.

Within the child, subtle fleeting flashes of Gerudo like behaviour stirred a strange sense of longing within him… And he was forever alone in that knowledge, not even allowed to indulge himself in it for the sake of his guise.

Reaching out with a rueful sigh, he snatched the knife out of her hand and shot her a small glare, before nodding toward the broken pillar. "Up you go then, brat." He growled.

The corners of Zelda's lips twitched with a hidden smile as she dutifully turned, padding over to the column of stone and driving slender fingers into the cracks, climbing with considerable effort. Her bare feet scuffed at it as she scurried up, knocking small fragments loose as her toes curled into any divot to find purchase. After a minute, the Princess hauled herself with a heavy grunt atop the pillar, back to her place no more than a foot or so above the disguised Gerudo's height. Careful, she moved off of her stomach, clutching the cracked masonry as she shakily stood, shuffling to face him and find her balance again. Slowly, Zelda lifted her leg, posing her knee high, at level with her hips, and spread her arms to assume the previous pose.

Ganondorf stepped out, planting leather boots firmly on the cracked surface as he, too, resumed previous stance, lifting the blood stained knife as the crimson liquid coated his fingers. For a moment, as the first stars appeared overhead, their eyes locked in a silent agreement.

With a flick of his wrist and a sharp, downward stroke of his arm, the knife was sent hurtling towards her again, spinning through the air with a dangerous whirr. It shimmered faint in the oncoming darkness of the night, catching the sparks of stars as they dotted the heavens within the flawless sheen of its blade.

Zelda's heart fluttered with a habitual doubt, though as the seconds grew short, adrenaline coursed through her and brought tired muscles to life. The slightest bend of her knee and a flex of her toes were timed to the descent of the Gerudo's hand, pushing off the stone with a spring as the knife slipped between. She felt the wind of its speed kiss the arch of her foot, as the Princess was suspended weightless in the air for a moment, swapping her attention to the right leg. It was brought down as the blade flew away behind her, and to Zelda's relief and Ganondorf's pride, she landed gracefully, steady and immediately ready to face another.

The Gerudo straightened, crossing his arms over his chest save for the hand that rose to stroke his beard lightly. A pleased smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, his eyes appraising the girl's posture as she landed. It was near perfect; had she known the move, she could easily have kicked out as she jumped. That would be her next task, tomorrow, he decided.

"Very good, Zelda. A little concentration doesn't go astray, does it?" He purred, proud.

The Princess beamed down at him, the stoic and cold expression she wore vanishing to be replaced by her childlike warmth. She stood casually upon the pillar now, staring down at him with a look of joy and excitement. She had done it! She dodged perfectly, and a knife at that!

A squeal-like giggle escaped her lips with mirth as she leaped down, no longer fearing the height. To Ganondorf's surprise, she managed to land without ankle injury, and within moments she was bounding toward him with agility—Without realizing it, the girl was more capable than either of them expected, gifted with doing things beyond her acrobatic level… or at least, what he had perceived her level to be. It seemed that out of her restrictive clothes, her natural flexibility shone through.

Unfortunately, she was currently using these hidden talents to throw herself at him.

Caught off guard, the disguised Gerudo had the wind knocked out of him as Zelda leapt from the ground to wrap her arms around his waist, sending the both of them toppling backward. Ganondorf, thrown off by the extra weight clinging to his midsection, quickly lost his footing as his back connected with another pillar, Zelda and his heavy frame dragging him down to slump upon the cracked stone beneath him.

Even his annoyed growl couldn't sour the Princess though, as she quickly readjusted herself, climbing over his lap to wrap her arms around his neck and rest upon broad shoulders, still grinning triumphantly. She nuzzled the side of his neck excitedly, gleeful even as his hands worked to remove her from his person.

"I dodged it, Sheik! It's working!" She chimed sweetly as his hands settled on her sides, getting a grip of her. "At first I thought you were being cruel, but you're the best teacher I've ever had! Thank you!"

"Zelda…!" The Gerudo hissed disapprovingly as she clung to him, fidgeting and writhing about ecstatically. He scowled deeply, pushing her back and struggling to pry her arms away—He doubted he'd ever truly get used to this hugging business she had with him. By all rights, he should've been outraged and disgusted by it, such weakness and dependence in the gesture… But the more she did it, the less it affected him, and it was little more than an annoyance now.

In the warm westerly that blew, the night young and holding illumination still with purples mingling upon the blue, her crystalline eyes shimmered with that adoration for him; golden curls bouncing to wisp out behind her head, ears twitching to the tickle of the silken locks. Like always, Ganondorf felt himself giving in, his aversion subsiding as his hands settled lazily to merely rest on her sides. There was little point in fighting against her affection, she never relented and, starved of it as he could guess she had been, it only served to strengthen their bond, he supposed.

Zelda pulled back to look at him properly, settling some now that he'd caved, smiling sweetly at him as she sat snuggled upon his lap. It was one of her favorite places to be; safe, secure, in powerful, protective arms. Tilting her head, her tiny digits flexed and intertwined behind his neck, idle as she studied his face closely. _He's just a stickler for propriety, _she thought playfully, _I know he wants to hug me…Perhaps it is just strange for him to embrace anything other than a woman he is to lay with._

With that thought though, she found herself feeling strange. A mild jealousy settled into the pit of her stomach as she thought about the others he'd likely held in the past… Others that were not her. Did he have a family, or a wife, somewhere? Children? …Was she more important than them, did he miss them; her mind ran wild with questions she'd never stopped to think about.

Seeing the smile fade from her lips, Ganondorf saw something he easily recognized in the child's eyes as darkness crept up on them—Envy. His thick brows twitched quizzically, as he wondered what could spur such a sudden burst of selfishness in her… she was not prone to such feelings, usually. His fingers flexed upon her sides as he drew a slow breath, curious.

"…That's a very strange look in your eyes, Zelda… For one who was so excited a minute ago." He started quietly, with a suspicious tone.

The Princess shifted in his hold, glancing off to the side evasively as her fingers came to toy with the braid of silver hair. "I was just… thinking. It's not important… We should return to the castle."

"Now, hold on…" The Gerudo's eyes narrowed dangerously. "You'll order me about as night falls to throw another blade at you, but not indulge me on your thoughts for fear of being late?" He raised a brow, grimacing at her in offense.

With a light sigh, Zelda peered at him from the corner of her eye, her lips twitching as words formed behind them. "…Do you…" She paused, biting her lip. "Do you have a family out there somewhere, waiting for you?"

Ganondorf blinked, not expecting that subject, as an uncomfortable silence fell between them. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it when no words came, breaking eye contact with the child to glance away as she had done before. The Gerudo's jaw shifted as her question dredged up long lost memories of his past, his eyes turning, without reprieve, to see the desert past the edges of the forest surrounding Lake Hylia, in the far distance.

"I…Did, once." He said tersely, his lips pulling into a thin line. "A long time ago."

Zelda slumped slightly, regretful to see he didn't want to talk about it. She immediately felt sorry for bringing it up, knowing full well that the Shiekah had died out. Her eyes traces the cracks of the stone in an awkward distraction as her fidgeting with his plat became feverish, a dead give away of her stress.

"…I'm sorry… I shouldn't have said anything… I know your people are gone, it was foolish of me to think you had… anything else…" She conceded quietly.

With a brief nod of acceptance, the Gerudo was resolute in moving on, but as the distant sound of cicadas rang out in the warm night air, he found his mind returning to the past relentlessly. The Princess' choice of words didn't help, and in that moment, his guise began to slip.

Staring off at the sandy dunes, his rich voice came as a low rumble. "…I had sisters."

Zelda's head turned, curls swaying behind, to look at him with some surprise as he continued.

"…I was the eldest out of my mother's children. I had three younger sisters by her, and with the littlest, my mother passed away in childbirth… She was only twenty four summers, at the time." He paused, letting go of a tired sigh. "I had… responsibilities to take on, and that left my first sister, the eldest of the three, to deal with the others by herself. I didn't get to see them often, or help her directly. But, because of my… favorable standing in the tribe, they were given better treatment than most families left broken like that."

He glanced at the girl, seeing a strange empathy in her eyes. Of course, she knew how it felt to be isolated, sharing a distant relationship with other family members and left without a mother.

"By the time I was a man, I hardly saw them at all. The eldest rose through the ranks as well, but by the time we were reunited, she and I grew distant within politics. There were other things that demanded my attention. I had plenty of duties, by then… Children too, though, I have no idea how many or even what their names were; what they were like. It was not about being a father, but rather, purifying the next generation and keeping the line intact…"

Crimson eyes settled upon crystalline as a sorrowful sort of look seeped through his harsh features, softening them.

"So, in many senses, Zelda, no… I've never had a family waiting for me to return. Even when family members of mine lived, I wasn't to be a part of their lives in the way you would expect."

With a mournful glance back toward the west, he shook his head. "And now, there are none at all. But a lot of things I do, I do for them still… I returned to Hyrule for the debt that I still owe to my people, so that I might fulfill it."

Zelda saw as light smile return to his face, vindicated as he looked upon her with fondness. "You're helping me to achieve that." He admitted quietly, his voice rich and smooth as it spurred her smile to return as well.

_A sister who carried the family? _She thought, intrigued, _That must've been Impa, of Kakariko._

"What happened to her?" She asked quietly; genuinely curious as to whether it was Impa. "Your sister, the eldest…She… Became a sage, didn't she?"

Ganondorf felt a jolt of panic as the Princess guessed correctly, brought out of any reflection as his mind went reeling, his muscles tense. How could she possibly know that?

Nodding absently, his head inclining with an apprehensive look, the disguised Gerudo's tongue ran over his teeth in thought.

"…Yes… she did…" He admitted slowly, weary.

But, how did this child know of Nabooru? It wasn't possible that she could make that connection without knowing of his Gerudo heritage… But that would mean…

Zelda shifted uncomfortably upon his lap, feeling as if she'd said something wrong. Clearing her throat, her hands settled to rest upon his shoulders as she cautiously smiled.

"I thought so… you had mentioned that you were of the Lady Impa's family, I only wondered how close. It must have been hard to act with the Hero around, knowing you would lose you sister in the process."

_Impa, of course, I remember now… _He had told the King that lie to get into his family's service, hadn't he? And even so, Zelda's words still held true—He and Nabooru had a falling out even before the Hero's arrival, but when his own sister became a traitor, guilty of treason, he spared her. TwinRova had acted on his orders not to harm her, but when he could no longer look the other way, forced to stop Nabooru's interference, he had let the witches brainwash her into becoming compliant. He had avoided killing her, a weakness that he'd never expected to rear its head; the lonely boy King within him reappeared whenever he dealt with his sister, if only briefly enough to sway him from harming her.

And even through his best efforts to keep her by his side, and relive the days of his youth when they were closer and held some semblance of a family, he only ever got a hollow shell of a woman, brainwashed, or the defiant rebel who despised the things he did. Then, she was taken out of his hands entirely, stolen by the sages and never to see him again; save for imprisoning him within a hell made of his own heart.

"Yes…" He agreed, distant. "There were many hardships… In that era…"

The Princess peered down, nodding with a somber understanding, but upon seeing that she was actually straddling his thighs, a blush crept over her nose as heat flushed her cheeks. She was a woman now after all… and he'd just told her, in no uncertain terms, that there was no one else—She was his only, his everything, his 'purpose for being', and it was 'he and her against the world'.

Those thoughts and her position quickly washed away the odd jealousy she had felt earlier, her gaze rising slightly to sweep his abdominals. She could see the definition clearly through the tight fabric, and suddenly, such a thing seemed much more noticeable than before; interesting even, as if just by studying the sculpture of his muscled frame she found a subdued delight.

"Well… We really do need to be heading back now." The Gerudo said firmly, ending the session of remembrance and shifting immediately to stand.

Drawn from her own guilty pleasure, Zelda twitched, surprised at the sudden movement, and reaffixed her hold on him. She was tired, either way, and wasn't about to miss the opportunity to be carried. Her leg still stung some from where the first knife had nicked her, though the blood had dried enough to stop the flow—walking would probably reopen it, however.

Ganondorf was used to her expecting to be carried now and then when she was tired, and with a roll of his eyes, he shifted the girl in his arms, leaning against the pillar as he got to his feet. Striding over to where his knife lay, he bent to pick it up negligently, and once he'd righted himself, he tapped the Princess' arm with the blunt edge of the blade.

She blinked toward it, delicate brows furrowed questioningly as she withdrew a hand from his shoulder to take it from him, the other arm still wrapped lazily behind his neck.

"A reward for the progress made, today. That knife was crafted by the Gerudo tribe, of the Desert Mesas… It's one of the sharpest blades to be found in Hyrule, I assure you."

Zelda brought the knife close to her face, inspecting it carefully. "You're giving this to me?" She asked, disbelievingly. "But, Gerudo artifacts are so rare… Most people would kill a man to get their hands on this; it must be worth a fortune…"

The disguised Gerudo chuckled haughtily, _Oh, now we're worth a fortune, are we, with the Gerudo having died out? Typical…_ He thought, amused and annoyed by this. _But, I suppose all the greatest artists of the world became so posthumously._

Still, he turned his crimson gaze upon the child's cute features with a smirk, and granted her a brief nod.

"I acquired it a long time ago, Zelda. It has a sentimental value that is best kept safe in your hands. That blade was on my person when I first laid eyes on your predecessor, and even the boy."

Zelda ran a finger along the handle, trying to read the ancient Gerudo characters engraved into the blade. "Boy? …Oh, you mean the Hero of Time…" She thought out loud, enthralled by the gift as a smile reflected in its sheen.

Turning her head to look up at him, ears twitching lightly, she held up the knife. "What does that say?"

Without even looking, Ganondorf knew what she meant. He needn't even read it to remember. "Strength, by the grace of our Goddess."

The Princess bounced lightly in his arms as they began to climb the cracked steps of the ruins, en route to the castle through the fields. Her brows rose toward him at the mention of a single Goddess, before she remembered. "Oh… That's right, the Gerudo didn't worship the trinity, did they?" Her attention returned to the blade, looking at her reflection. "They had their own Goddess."

Unable to help himself, Ganondorf spoke up. "Yes and no. They referred to her as the Goddess of the Sands, though in actuality, this was just one of Din's many forms, and the Gerudo were aware of this." After a moment, the steps were behind them, and his boots lightly met the grass. "They worshipped that form of Din, because it was the only one relevant to themselves; the form she took when she crafted the shifting sands, and gave birth to her closest daughters."

"It is believed that Din did so in defiance of her sisters, Farore and Nayru, and made that part of the world without them… and so the desert was bereft of life and law; the Gerudo expected to live by their strength alone, with the aid of a soldier sent by Din to lead them every hundred years. A male, in fact… The only male."

Zelda perked up, knowing where this tale was heading, and wanting to add to it and show off her scholarly insights. "The Evil King is a male Gerudo, isn't he? He was the King of Thieves before then. They say that, because Nayru hadn't blessed their lands with law, the Gerudo became thieves, and their King was wicked, bereft of any morals or honor, slaying any and all in his path like a demon wearing the skin of a man."

"…There's two sides to every story, Zelda." Ganondorf said flatly, unsurprised by his own portrayal. He supposed he was capable of that behaviour, and guilty of it at points, but that was by no means the only thing to him.

"And despite what the history books say," He continued, defensive, "The King of Evil was not some raging beast without a sense for reason."

"Yes, he only turned into one when the Sages sealed him in the Sacred Realm, I know." She chirped dismissively, still toying with the blade.

"No, he _didn't_." He growled, bearing his canines in frustration. "He transformed into a bestial form, _yes_, but he was caught in the throes of rage. That does not imply that he was beyond reason or not in control of his own body. Inside, though he may have been outwardly vicious, he was the same man with the same mind he had always held."

The Princess looked up from the gifted weapon to stare at him. Instantly, the Gerudo knew he'd crossed a dangerous line, allowing his temper to get the better of him.

"…You know an awful lot about the King of Evil for one who was his enemy, if it's not to bold to say..." She whispered, growing quiet and waiting intently for a response. Her eyes grew steeled, crystalline gaze locked onto his without so much as a blink to ease it. She would have a straight answer, this time—none of his evasiveness would be tolerated.

Ganondorf's jaw shifted, cautious, as her eyes bore into his. A lie wouldn't quite work here, he could sense it… she would catch him out. Clicking his tongue, he settled for a misplaced truth, instead.

"…I worked for him, Zelda. For the Evil King… I was a lieutenant of his during the Seven years of Darkness. That's how I came into possession of that blade you're holding."

Zelda's eyes grew wide with a dangerous glint of withdrawal in them. "…You… No, you helped the Hero, and…" Blinking, the shock slipped away from her face to be replaced by a scowl. "Explain." She barked, royal authority sparking to life in her like a fanned flame.

With a sigh, Ganondorf ducked slightly as the two passed underneath the low branch of a tree, the castle gates not far now as the howl of a wolf echoed across the fields from the distance.

"I worked as a double agent. Your ancestor went into hiding after the coup, to protect her effectively, somebody needed to work on the inside and keep track of the Evil King's plans. He leapt at the chance to employ a Shiekah, with the shadowmancy we possess, knowing that we would make elite warriors and spies… Also, because of the loyalty of the Shiekah to the Royal Family, he knew the Hero would not suspect one of working for him."

This was true, save for the part where he himself was the King of Evil, but the disappointed tone in his voice—More in reflection of his own folly—served to lend him a regretful tone that eased the Princess' concerns all the more. Relief and understanding slowly settled her angry expression as she relaxed, regaining her clinginess immediately.

"Granted, I was put through various trials to ensure that I was not a monarchist of the old Royal family… But I overcame them." Speaking low, he was careful to remain in the strange, outward perspective of the events that had occurred so long ago, thinking back on his interactions with the 'Sheik' he had known.

"He was reluctant to employ me in crucial matters at first, cautiously sending me out on errands that tested my loyalties before giving me any assignment of importance. But after a time, I slowly became one of his most capable and trusted men, earning myself a notable rank in his legions."

Closing the last leg of distance between them and the massive wall surrounding castle town, he stopped before it, looking up. "When the Hero appeared, I was given the task of shadowing him and informing the Evil King of his achievements and movements. I… used those opportunities wisely, as the history books would denote."

A smirk allowed him to finish on a self-satisfying note, "He caught my betrayal when your ancestor showed herself to the Hero in the Temple of Time, and my service ended swiftly, to say the least."

Zelda nodded with relief and acceptance as she felt his muscles wind tight, preparing for the journey back. She loved the stories he told, even if he told them in a removed sort of way. _Perhaps it allows him to leave his demons in the past,_ she conceded inwardly. When he spoke of Old Hyrule, with the epic battles and tense politics, warring fiefdoms and magical relics, it made her spirit soar—It was to be a blessing and a curse, descended from such a rich tapestry of history, but in these moments she wouldn't trade it for the world.

The Princess held on tightly and felt his arms secure her in place only a second before the wind went rushing past as the disguised Gerudo jumped, in true Shiekah style, from a stone ledge to an iron outcrop, and finally the top of the grand barrier with a silent fluidity in his movements. He landed on one foot before the other came down firmly to steady them, Zelda taking the opportunity to look over the wooden bridge leading from the nearby gate to castle town over the moat, and the sea of rooftops beyond that. Smoke billowed and curled from chimney stacks, not a person in sight on the lonely plane atop the town, unused, and she couldn't help but marvel at how different the world looked from their current vantage. His feet carried them with extraordinary balance across a wooden beam of oak, crossing a bridge of their own over the preset walkway.

Beneath the stars and the calm, cloudless blanket of darkness, the disguised Gerudo ran across the rooftops, jumping with silent ease from each to the next, Princess safely in tow. The smoke from some stacks shifted, wisping around them like ghosts as they moved stealthily across the town, unbeknownst to the souls still stirring below. They were as shadows in the night, unseen and unheard, as they skipped the eaves and shingles to return to the castle, standing high above to loom over the town.

Finally, reaching the outer wall of the grounds, Ganondorf's eyes swept the sentry posts, spotting a guard here and there. Employing the same technique that he had used to stalk Talleday, the Gerudo and the Princess were veiled in a silhouette; confident that any who did see them would immediately forget once out of sight. He ran swiftly across the path atop the wall, from one post to another, leaping to land on the thatched covering of one of them. Avoiding the guards all together, he crouched, scoping the grounds and spying the torch-lights of the soldiers below.

The outer towers, only used in times of war, were connected to the main castle by large, sweeping links of stone, like ropes tied between each structure. To the Princess, they were reminiscent of children who played around brightly coloured poles, holding fluorescent ribbons as the danced around it. With skill, the Gerudo made his way off the thatching to abscond toward the nearest tower, using the masonry of the ledges as he inched around it, using his free hand to help him. Climbing up onto the stone bond, it was as easy as that, the architectural path carrying them swiftly toward the safety of Zelda's rooms.

A few last bounds downward, across a balcony and a few eaves, he gripped the iron lattice work around her window to swing himself down, landing upon the semi-circular marble jutting out from the ridge, the panes open and waiting for them as he dropped in through the parted veil of curtains.

Giving a sigh of relief after this exercise, Ganondorf released his charm. Letting the magic dissipate, he promptly sat upon the sill with a lazy slump, in his usual spot with his back against the side of the alcove as the curtains brushed against his arm lightly. One leg rose to rest on the stone as well, as a stifled yawn brought his attention downward to the girl nestled snugly in his arm, still wrapped around his neck.

Zelda gave him a tiny smile, tired, with the knife still clutched delicately in her palm. There was no way she'd be able to make that kind of journey without him carrying her, though she hoped, one day, she might. With her balance improving each day, the Princess took comfort in the fact that, within a year or so, there would be no place she could not reach.

The both of them were aware of Ganondorf's ability to simply teleport them in a flash to her chambers, but there was an unspoken agreement between them—they both liked the thrill of sneaking around, and the view of the quiet world of the rooftops was something of their own. The both of them could simply imagine that they were the only ones on this Earth, for a brief time, escaping from it entirely; no expectations or the pressures of daily life could follow them to that place, under the night sky, hidden in the dark.

Peering down at her, the Gerudo surveyed the extent of damage he had dealt, counting the scrapes and mentally working through the pattern of magic he would need to heal them all, along with any bruises. Placing a large hand atop her head, a warm glow encompassed it, flowing into her.

Zelda shivered as the aches and pains she'd gathered slowly began to wash away, replaced by a soothing hum that resounded in her bones. Porcelain skin knitted together, various cuts and gashes closing seamlessly, as the darkened patches where bruising had come out began to fade. After a moment, the girl was in excellent condition, as if never having left the castle at all.

As the magical glow left both of their skin, Ganondorf's gloved hand shifted, combing past the soft curls of her hair and allowing his fingers to breeze her cheek fondly. Zelda smiled sweetly up at him, her eyes sparkling with the obsessive intensity he had come to crave from her as pointed ears twitched, the last tingling sensation of the healing subsiding.

The moon had begun its climb into the dark of night outside, and it threw its celestial radiance across the castle to highlight the two of them within the window. Crimson eyes traced wherever the moonlight hit her; the light curve of her nose and the slender arch of her brows, each curl of gold-spun hair and the kiss of her icy pink lips. The crystal shimmer of blue irises, with the camber of lunar light streaking across them… Ganondorf noticed, with a dangerous twist in his gut, that Zelda now possessed a woman's chin. There was something about her—dusk mingled with the luminosity upon her face—that transformed her into something serenely beautiful, beyond a child or a woman and into the realms of the angelic, delicate and flawless.

Zelda didn't miss the look in his eyes as he was caught up in these thoughts, either, and much as he had recognized the jealousy in her eyes—knowing it well, from his own experience—she, too, could pinpoint the odd glint in his. It was akin to the feeling she got when she watched his muscles ripple and flex beneath the skin tight garb, or the flutter in her stomach when he smiled at her, proud. It was the same warmth that rushed through her whenever she found herself upon his lap, cradled safely within his capable reach…Like she did now.

Her idle fingers twitched at the back of his neck, brushing the skin with a light tickle as she studied him, working out what she liked and what she didn't, about his face as the two sat in a relaxed and restful hush. It was a harsh face, drawn into a rough looking scowl more often than not, as if day by day he suffered through some great headache.

He had a large nose, though on a man of his stature, it didn't seem so severe; a divot at its bridge pointed to the fact that it had been broken in the past. His skin was lightly tanned, though weathered with creases, as if the colour tone was deceptive as to how long he'd spent in the sun. Many of the lines of his face were superficial, however, fading away with lighter expressions, and seemed to stem from his scowl to make him appear a few years older than he actually was. His eyebrows were strange as well, stretching across his temples to meet his hairline.

There were many odd and foreign things about his face that might be considered ugly by Hylian standards, but to the Princess, he blurred the lines of normalcy between ugliness and beauty. His brows might put a woman off in the strange way they joined the rest of the silver hair, but Zelda found they held a regal charm, strengthening his expressions. The angular lines of his face seemed exotic, but she found a brutal and manly streak of attractiveness in them. Even the prominent and perhaps, when she looked this closely, slightly crooked nose did not seem out of place when he wore it. She found the darker quality his skin carried reminded her of caramel toffees, which she adored, and the rough texture of it intrigued her in its diversity to her own.

With his muscled frame, standing taller than any other man she'd ever seen, he carried himself with a strange poise and fluidity one wouldn't expect of that physique. He walked with a powerful gait, and his movements and gestures were confident. He had an air of control and dignity she coveted, respected and admired almost constantly.

And above all else, his eyes captured her like nothing she'd ever seen—wild, like a feral beast, and yet, calm and decisive, with a piercing blood-red gaze that could see right down into the bottom of you; every so often, she'd catch a glimpse of gold, like treasures untold, flash across his irises, a mystery. She decided then, within herself, that she found him handsome—a strange kind of handsome, perhaps, and coarse but, it was real and gritty, earthy and of an earned masculinity that made her chest tighten with ardor.

Smiling to herself cheekily, she turned a smirk toward him, twiddling the knife in her fingers as mischief shone in her eyes.

"…You're thinking I look quite pretty, all of a sudden, aren't you?"

Ganondorf stiffened, the worried thought that somehow, she'd managed to read his mind shooting through him like a flaming arrow. It also brought into sharp relief a fact that he'd been careful not to admit to himself. Zelda was correct, a wild guess though it may have been, or perhaps just some of her usual teasing, but the Gerudo had to acknowledge now that he was finding the features of a child attractive. Now, he had regarded the beauty of children before, as many others might, but the way the tiny Princess had begun to appeal to him of late was not cut of the same cloth. He regarded Zelda as both a child and a woman, yet not really applicable to either. Once again, she was an intriguing shade of grey.

An avaricious, enticing, curious shade of grey.

His fingers flexed again on the taught waist of the Princess, though this time, purposely. She was building up her muscle fast, and it wouldn't be long before the already scant layer of baby fat left her body entirely to reveal growing curves… subtle, he could already see them about her hips. Would it be so wrong if he simply reserved her for himself, later? He already guided her through most facets of her young life, really then, what was another?

The Gerudo's crimson gaze rose from his fingers, sweeping her torso to land upon her face once more, a decisive and possessive glint in them.

"I have known you to be… 'pretty'… since laying eyes upon you. Everyone in the Kingdom has, Zelda, you know very well that your beauty is held in high regard already." He conceded tersely, careful of himself now that the girl had picked up on his appraisal of her.

Zelda raised a thinly arched brow towards him, in much the same manner as he did to her, often. That aloof streak in him was acting up again, though she wouldn't have it, chasing the subject like a wild tiger in the southern jungles as her fingers flickered against the back of his neck again.

"Beautiful like my mother, so I'm told. But…" The haughty smirk grew. "That was when I was a child. I am now a woman, this necklace is a mark of that." The tip of the blade rose to her collarbone to tap the slivers of gold, the pendant giving a faint clinking sound.

"When you look at me, now, you see that, don't you?" She purposely took on a sultry sort of tone, experimental, and could see him tracking the edge of the knife with a strange sort of look, and she found she enjoyed it.

The corner of Ganondorf's mouth quivered alone for a moment, as the metal grazed her skin, enticing his thoughts to imagine things he shouldn't have concerning a girl her age. That was a far cry from curious attraction, and utterly dangerous, taboo territory he wasn't so sure he should venture into. The Gerudo was many things, but the darkness swirling at the back of his mind had not ever twisted him towards a girl less than her fourteenth year, even in his youth.

Despite this though, the demons within stirred up his hunger. They were not mere people, the Princess and he; they were divine beings, above mortal law and the moral dilemmas of the worthless peons below. Should he want her, even as a child, he was entitled to her—No, she was not even that. She was a spirit, centuries old as he was, merely stowed within a renewed body. She was his Zelda, and yet, she was every Zelda before her, and every Zelda there would ever be.

The divide between a man and a child did not apply here.

Ganondorf shifted suddenly, lifting the girl and wrapping his arm possessively around her waist as she was pulled close, held against his chest. Inclining his head to peer down at her slightly surprised face, her mouth in a cute 'o', he chuckled with a sinister sound; a greedy smile appearing as the curtains fluttered with the breeze around them.

"Yes, Zelda, I do. I marvel at the multitude of tones in you, as you grow into yourself more each day. It goes much deeper than just an interest in your evolution from child to woman, or how 'pretty' you become in the meantime."

The Princess withdrew her hand to slide over his shoulder and rest against his chest, feeling the subtle rise and fall with his breath, as he face returned to a serene smile. Her fatigue was still evident in the lazy way she held the peaceful look, tired though charmed within his embrace.

"I think it's perfectly wonderful the way you talk, sometimes, Sheik… You're such a gentleman." She giggled, toying with the blade some as her fingers reached up to touch the hair on his chin, thinking of how such a simple thing served to further define a man.

Ganondorf smirked, his own hand tracing her spine daringly as he began to seriously toe the boundaries of their previous relations, his mind spiting the King and Talleday. He felt the girl move against his chest in response, her lips pulling into a grin as if it had tickled.

"Then here we are, Zelda. A gentleman and a lady, holding fine company. Your father would be pleased." He snickered, imagining the man's face should he have ever seen them in such a compromising position… entwined upon a windowsill like lovers drenched in moonlight.

The Princess' delicate features contorted into a look of serious consideration, as her mind seemed to skip miles ahead of herself, her fingertips still grazing his beard affectionately. She spoke quietly, betraying her internal wishes to him clearly.

"…Father… has always struck me as the type to deny all suitors I may choose. I've thought about what my future would be like, and I realized he'd probably try to marry me off to the son of one of his councilmen."

Her brow knitted together in distaste, a stubborn pout flashing across her lip before it was replaced by a cold sneer. She hated the children of the council. All of them were straight-laced scholars or potential candidates for their parent's positions, with a habit of snobbery and prejudice against the lower classes. Zelda had entertained them a few times, forced into it by her father's urging that she 'associate with people her own age', but the few boys out of them had been spoilt and arrogant brats, and had in fact looked down upon her for her idea of amusement. Even the girls were already wearing powder upon their faces, either plump or glass-like in extravagant dresses, with the nerve to remark on her 'childishness'.

Glancing up at her attendant with a resolute lift of her chin, she asked the question that would give him the idea that would, inevitably, seal her father's fate.

"You said the Shiekah paid their debt in blood, resulting in my line sharing the name in part." She started, licking her lips as her clever mind worked. "…That would mean a Shiekah was once coupled with a member of the royal family, and by our laws, they would have to have been married to be allowed to bear children from their union."

Her lips pursed as her touch drifted up the line of his jaw. "Do you think… that it would be out of the question for it to happen again…? I mean… Father would probably be very put off by the thought but, surely, there must be a tradition or law that would allow for Shiekan blood to be kept within the family. This could only be achieved if one were to marry into my line, every so often, right?"

The lupine howl echoed across the lands below once again as the Gerudo's eyes flashed with a ruthless voracity. _Brilliant child,_ he praised mentally, dark laughter ringing through his mind unvoiced, _Of course there must be. It's just a point of finding it, and then we can skip the prologue and get straight to the main event, can't we?_ Once again, he was astounded and grateful for Zelda's obsession with him. _And your father; if he has issue with it, he'll find himself silenced. _The bubble of laughter brewing in his chest seeped to the surface, rumbling in his throat as it grew into a glorious cackle—_Long live the King! _He thought, utterly enthralled by the idea.

His Majesty's own daughter would be his undoing, providing the Gerudo with the perfect reason to end the sovereign's pitiful reign should he seek to control his daughter's future any further.

Settling his morbid enthusiasm, he tailored his amusement toward the child's comment. "Does that mean you want to marry me, Zelda?" He laughed, grinning at her with a shark's grin that chills through the girl—What kind of chills, she wasn't sure, but it didn't matter.

A heavy blush settled on her cheeks as she frowned, somewhat embarrassed by his reaction. She curled against him, twisting in his grasp to face the outside world and cast her gaze across the night lit vista. Her fingers fidgeted with the knife, feeling slightly foolish.

"…I'd rather you over the other likely candidates…" She huffed quietly, seemingly rebuffed. Perhaps she wasn't as much of a woman in his eyes as she had thought.

Though her soured mood only served to endear him to her further, finding the reaction to possible rejection charming in a way. Ganondorf, let his laughter settle, coughed lightly to clear his throat and hold the last chuckle in. Trying desperately to hide his grin, a strange twist of malice, joy and greed as it was, his hand moved to cup her shoulder.

"Zelda, you are still quite young. Marriage should be a distant thought for one your age…" He conceded, knowing this to be a world truth, as his fingers lightly massaged the nape of her neck. "But… We both know you have never quite been… congruent with your actual age. If you feel it is important, or want to pursue such a thing, I won't protest. It should be your decision to make, after all."

Sucking a breath through his teeth, he added for good measure, "It is my purpose to know what is in your best interests, and act upon them."

He watched her ears twitch as the girl stared silently out of the window, the moonlight still catching the highlights of her hair. This western wind was a very good omen indeed—Zelda would usher them toward an inseparable point, without any need for his usual driving and for once, Ganondorf was pleased to see himself be pulled along. All he had to do was sit back and be encouraging of her 'independence' as usual, and his ward would guide any passion to be had between them… if all went smoothly, he may well be handed Hyrule on a silver platter. No revolts or intervention, the politics were sound, and he would be accepted by the people immediately. The only issue that may arise was a mortal one, easily able to meet the same fate as Talleday—King's were assassinated all the time, a pity he would not have a Shiekah to protect him, like his daughter. Once the King was out, the council would fall to Zelda's feet, licking her boots as the circle of life continued on its merry way.

And though it wasn't on the forefront of his mind, through it all he would get to keep his Zelda… Every inch of her, the unfurling rose that she was.

He knew her loyalties would never stray from him; having been her confidant, friend, teacher… a replacement to her father, and so it seemed, he was also to be her first lover. A world had been built up around her, shielding her from all else beside him; her devotion to him—To each other, she thought. Zelda would grow to only feel comfortable with him, even now she was barely able to be herself unless in his company… As a woman, the Gerudo was certain that Zelda would live in the delusion of freedom, at his side, rather than realize his trapping of her. _Hell, it will be all she knows; she'll defend it to the end._

All that was required of him was to find a loophole in Hylian law that would place a Shiekah on the throne.

"So…" She murmured, hopeful, "…You would be my husband, given the chance…?" Her voice seemed small, distant, as if fearful of hearing that he wouldn't. Slowly, she shifted, clutching the blade tightly to her chest as her head lolled to rest upon the symbol of the eye emblazoned on his clothes, the surreal heartbeat like a drum in her ear.

The Gerudo's fingers swept across the crook of her neck, breezing her clavicle with the faintest, fond touch. His voice rumbled richly in the still night air.

"…I wouldn't object to it, no. Despite our banter, I do like to see you happy, Zelda…" He purred, though it wasn't quite a lie—He only cared for her happiness so long is it continued to be of service to him; a happy Zelda was an obedient one, and in that sense, he liked it very much. "…A trait that doesn't seem to be shared amongst the rest of those in your life, sadly."

A tiny smile appeared, reflected upon the Gerudo blade as it glinted in the moon's shine, perfect teeth scraping lightly across her bottom lip. "You're always giving me a say in my own affairs… It would be nice if I could return that favor somehow. You'd make a good King, I think, if we were ever to marry."

"Then you should go and fetch your lyre, and play me a song fit for a King." He jibed playfully, leaning over her head to peer at her with a smirk, hinting that their usual lesson was being put off.

He earned himself a laugh, though Zelda gave him a look that implied she would do no such thing, her hand lashing out to catch the silver braid as it fell from his shoulder. She inspected it briefly, feeling it in her fingers, before her crystalline gaze dropped to the knife. "…I'd rather cut your hair." She proposed blatantly, arching a brow as the blade was wiggled at him. "I think you would suit shorter hair. Just to your shoulders, then you could wear it loose every now and then." Her smile quickly turned into a devilish grin.

"The braid you wear it in takes away from your…" She paused, shooting him an eager look as she tilted her head. "…Masculine appeal."

Ganondorf's blood turned to ice as the girl held the edge to his plat intently—If she cut it, the lock left in her hand would be bereft of magic. It would turn crimson, as it naturally was.

The Princess squealed as she was nearly kicked off of his lap with a jerk of his knee, loosing her hold of the knife as it skittered across the stone floor, her wrist now locked in his tight fist. She was spun in his grasp, disarmed as he held her forearm high, limp with shock. Facing him as she had before, Zelda blinked with confusion, eye wide as a ragged breath escaped her. An instinctual fear spurred her heart into a flurry as her eyes searched his scowling visage, noting the points of his canines closely as his warm breath fanned across her face.

"Don't do that." He growled viciously, glaring at her with such intensity that the girl felt cornered within his gaze.

Her pale skin blanched with alarm, caught helpless by the wrists in an iron grip, as a gasp hitched with some panic. Immediately she realized it must've held some sort of cultural importance; she recalled reading that martial artists sometimes held them in high regard, as a show of honor. Her lip quivered as she stuttered her apology, held barely an inch from his nose.

"I-I'm sorry… I was only playing around with you…" Zelda whispered, a scolded tone in her voice as her eyes wavered on his. "I wouldn't have cut it, really… I was just…"

Seeing that delectable expression on her face, her eyes shimmering with fright and the moon still playing on her features, Ganondorf felt himself pushed over the edge as his control slipped for only the briefest of moments. His fingers crushed her wrists with a bruising force, and he'd damned himself with the way he had jerked her upward, so close that he no longer saw the childlike body. His vision was filled by only her face, with those expressive eyes… the pouted curve of her lips set upon a woman's chin. He couldn't resist, an urge to taste the innocence before it was inevitably soiled by his conditioning rising up in him swiftly, inconsolable.

A twisted and sanguine thing it was when the Dark Lord, in the guise of a Shiekah, grazed his wanton kiss upon the icy pink lips of an underage Princess, innocent still to the ways of men and, indeed, to the evil she found herself willingly indulging. But they were as shadows in the night, unseen and unheard in a world of their own, as the notes of a forgotten lyre never sounded on this night—A night that marked the beginning of a tragic and forbidden attraction.

**A/N: **

**I think the characters ran away with me a bit on this one. They do act independently of me, to be truthful, that's why I like writing these stories so much.**

**Initially it was just going to be the realizations that the attraction was there...**

**Oh well. This works too. Half the point of this was to explore the moral lines blurring—on one hand, you know it's wrong, and on the other, it's sweet and perfectly romantic… Like the first fic I did (I've a wonderfully twisted mind).**

**Anyhoo, moving on into darker pastures! **


	10. Prizes within Books and Girls

**A/N: Okay. Time-skippage ahoy.**

**Just so everyone follows with the time frames, here's a refresher:**

**Up until this chapter, we covered about two and a half months worth of events—the start of Ganondorf's attendance. I never actually gave Zelda's official age in the start, and I only gave you that she looked around ten or so.**

**So there isn't any confusion in this chapter, Zelda was eleven years old when the story started. She was coming up on twelve by the last chapter, and the kiss was shared in the beginnings of spring, as winter was passing. Zelda's birthday is in springtime, and we've skipped two birthdays, but only just. One full seasonal cycle has gone by after we saw the first part of spring in the last chapter, and now it's spring again and will be two cycles.**

**Zelda is now coming up on her fourteenth birthday. The six years of attendance implied that Ganondorf would strike after her sixteenth birthday, but before her seventeenth, and was a rough amount of time; we have just over two years more to play with, starting this chapter.**

**Also, this chapter is Skyward Sword flavoured.**

**And… Shad makes more than a cameo here. Because he's just the best nerd ever.**

**Everyone good? Okay. Onward!**

Over a year or so had passed since Zelda's first, fleeting kiss had given her an early step up on the stairway to womanhood, and in that time, many other facets of her growth had followed it quickly.

Her body had thinned out with a growth spurt, toned with a firm yet feminine layer of muscle gained from her training, as gentle curves slowly graced her hips and thighs by natural progression. Her dresses now sat well upon her, with the Princess' new height and figure filling them out nicely; her attire tailored with necklines and bodices she'd never been able to wear previously. Golden tresses had gained a glorious length, straight with ringlet twists bringing curls to the ends at the small of her back—it had become the envy of many girls and women alike, the kingdom over.

The council had introduced several additives to her day, and Zelda now found herself expected to attend public occasion on a more frequent basis, admired like a jewel of the crown itself by any in attendance. Private lessons in etiquette and social standing had begun, with age old traditions—carrying tomes with poise upon one's head while walking, the correct gestures to use while holding cutlery, the tucking of an ankle behind the leg while sitting—conditioning her every mannerism to better suit her status. This, along with the secretive exercises the Shiekah put her through, had earned Zelda a new posture, easing elegance and grace with an adept sense of balance, into the way the young woman now carried herself.

A woman's chin was now accompanied by higher cheekbones, fragile shoulders and a swanlike neck. Her nose was perhaps the only thing unchanged, cute as it hadn't grown into her newly apparent features. Even the slight swell of her breast had become a delicate contour, soft as it sat hidden behind embroidered hems, understated with womanly potential. Though she was still quite young, it could be contested that she had left her childlike appearance behind and now, rather, was as a miniature version of what she was to be when fully grown, much to the delight of those who had been waiting patiently for this transformation to occur.

It seemed that all those around her were now aware of her status as a woman and treated her accordingly; those who'd thought her childish now regarded her fondly, praising the way she had grown. She was heralded as a majestic beauty, looking more like the late queen each day. The world flocked around her with smiles now that her body, and seemingly her mind with it, had matured.

And yet, the first to know of this transformation and behold her crossing the lines to adulthood, while at the time the rest remained painfully unawares, had withdrawn his attention from that aspect with a tantalizing restraint.

Every now and again, Zelda would catch it; the back of his fingers as they lingered too long upon her arm or the subtle, wanting glance that told her his mind and body were warring about something. On rare occasions—the days where she was upset, or particularly beaten from lessons in combat, and even simply out of the blue—she would recapture it with his lips grazing her forehead, a whisper fanning out hot against her ear, or the subtle sweep of his hand upon her hip or thigh.

Yet to the Princess' disappointment and chagrin, Sheik had not blessed her lips with his affection since the lonely kiss taken in the window, almost as if he'd forgotten it entirely; they didn't speak of it, and any attempt to was evaded with skill. It seemed he would not relent or reward her desires until she had solved the puzzles of romance, blossoming into a new understanding of what it may be he coveted in her.

But on the eve of her fourteenth birthday, the castle bustling with excitement and busy with preparation, Zelda was hopeful this may change.

Walking down the carpeted halls, the graceful sway in the Princess' gait carried her gently, peach coloured skirts swishing about slender ankles as satin gloved arms lilted at her sides. A charmed smile sat upon her lips to lend a pleasantly approachable look to her face, as a scruffy servant boy—heavily laden with books—struggled, tottering behind, awkwardly caught between his awe of the girl and the task at hand. Though it appeared Zelda paid him no mind, secretly she marveled, once again, at how differently people acted around her in comparison to when she was younger… Males, especially.

Statued soldiers, the armoured suits empty save for a hint of pride left by the men who once donned them, saluted her as she passed. The marble entrance of the libraries ahead in all its carved glory, Zelda's attention glossed over the heavy doors and a mean spirited idea came to mind. Just before reaching her destination, the Princess turned suddenly, standing to the side and turning a haughty gaze at the boy behind her. He seemed to flinch under her eyes, wobbling as the volumes threatened to spill out from his grasp at any moment, before he came to an awkward stop.

Zelda smiled sweetly at him, taking note of the red seeping into his cheeks as the servant stood terrified and beguiled.

"Would you mind terribly?" She asked, raising a brow when he didn't move.

The boy's eyes widened, flitting about to nervously scan the area before he responded meekly. "M-mind what, m-milady…?"

Zelda knew he hadn't been here long, but he must've been fresh to call her that. She clicked her tongue mischievously. "Firstly, you are to address me as Your Highness, or Princess Zelda. Secondly, 'ladies first' is only applicable to chivalry in my case…" Catching the boy's blank stare, she rolled her eyes, knowing he was likely uneducated.

"When you're in the presence of a lady, you must hold the door open for them in all good manners. This is even more important when serving royalty. I can't go through until you open this door, and you may get in trouble for failing to do so." Her sweet smile then returned.

The servant grinned sheepishly, as if he had simply forgotten. "Oh… Y-yes, mil- Your Highness…" He shuffled eagerly toward the door, but paused when he realized opening the door for her was currently impossible.

The Princess, of course, already knew the difficulty he would have, as a smirk flirted with the corner of her mouth.

The boy juggled the books around, trying in vain to reach the handle without dropping any. His tongue poked out in concentration, brows continued to furrow as his fingers uselessly wiggled toward the brass. Frustrated grunts soon turned to a helpless look, but just as his mind clicked over and he bent to put the books down, Zelda's gasp drew his panicked eyes upward.

"Oh, no!" She cried with fake alarm. "You can't simply put them down upon the filthy floor! That simply wouldn't do at all!" Her hand came to fan her face, as if it were all too much for the delicate Princess. "And I am far too weak to carry them… But decorum must stand; neither can I open the door as a lady… Oh, am I to be stuck here?" She wailed in an exaggerated manner, holding her fingers to her forehead in false light-headedness.

"B-but… I can't open… the…" His words trailed of as the beautiful girl sent him a vulnerable look, her eyes shimmering as if she would cry.

The poor servant looked utterly crestfallen then as he trembled, correcting himself immediately. "N-No! Don't… Uh…! Please, Y-your Highness, I-I'll… I'll go get help! Yeah! Stay here, please! I'll save you, promise, you won't be stranded here!" He cried, petrified as he scurried off in a flash of weak heroism, calling out desperately as he rounded the corner of the hall, a few books littered behind him.

"Oh, my hero!" She cried encouragingly, waving him off and wishing she'd had a handkerchief to complete the damsel in distress motif.

Once he was out of earshot, the Princess' act disappeared immediately, replaced by an evil cackle. She turned, opening the grand door with a shunt to let herself in, a wicked grin on her delicate features as she shook her head. _Oh, poor boy, _she thought, pleased with her cheeky ways, _They'll think I've been struck down by lightning with the way he's carrying on._ Closing it behind her, Zelda's gaze swept the first section of the libraries with a quiet relief in being unaccompanied once more. _What a useless thing my etiquette lessons turned out to be; if the world worked like that truly, we'd all have starved long ago for the pantry doors not being held open or the wrong forks being provided. _

With a happy sort of sigh, slender fingers pinched at her skirts to hold the hem above her ankles and Zelda passed beneath the crystal chandelier in the library foyer to make her way toward the impressive mahogany staircase. She skipped over each step with ease and agility, climbing to the higher levels quickly with a light, contented hum; as soon as she stood atop the stairway, overlooking the foyer, her dress was released to sway around her feet freely. The hem ghosted over the plush blue runner as her fingers trailed affectionately over the row of books at her left, lining the wall in a ceiling high display.

She had found, over the course of the last year, that the libraries were one of her favorite places to be besides the gardens; her curiosity could be catered to in silent privacy here, the air still with a studious calm, surrounded by the scent of parchment and lavender as it drifted in from outside. Luminous and spacious, the daylight poured in from high arched windows during the day, splaying the colours of spring against the glass as they danced beyond of it.

She could easily tuck herself away here for hours without trouble following her—even with a steady flow of scholars through the public areas, there were untouched aisles, like hidden secrets in the maze, and restricted sections in which she could make herself comfortable without being disturbed. She'd lost count of how many times she'd sat in the eldest parts and simply lounged, though lately, she'd also taken to practicing her magics in the security these friendly tomes provided.

Zelda skipped and tottered through the aisles, passing a display wall of ancient pottery and weapons, through a corridor of scrolls and by numerous tapestries and portraits of heritage, her golden tresses bouncing lightly as she went. Like herself, there was another who preferred his own company, hidden and out of public attentions, especially on days where the castle bustled and busied itself with festivities or grand occasions. The Princess had grown to know his movements well, and if he wasn't reading on the tented roofing or high upon the eave of a tower, he was sure to be found here.

But it seemed today he was well hidden… or didn't wish to be found.

Turning into a smaller chamber used for research and map drafting, Zelda padded over to an old table, her gaze sweeping the room inquisitively as she searched for her missing attendant. A cough from over by a shelf containing maps of Holodrum alerted the Princess to another with a start, but her hopefulness flickered and died with the friendly smile of an older man.

"My word, what a pleasant surprise… Can I help you with anything, Princess Zelda?" He asked with a gentle yet proper accent, adjusting round glasses over his thin nose.

She looked him over, trying to place his name so as not to seem rude—Diamond patterned socks rode high on his shins, with gentry's pantaloons in a purple shade to match a smart vest. He carried a book with a dagger in its pages, and his wiry frame still held a healthy posture and look, showing he'd carried his youthfulness as long as he could have despite his age. He was peering at her with a fond look over his small, round glasses, expectantly.

Sensing her hesitation, he chortled with a nasal sound, warm with a welcoming gesture. "You probably don't remember me well, do you?" He smiled. "I haven't taught you since you were but a knee high… If I recall, you favored the stories of the city in the clouds more than you ever did geography. To be fair, though, so did I."

Blinking for a moment before it came back to her, Zelda's face lit up with a bright and familiar smile. "Sir Shadrian! I could never forget your lessons… You know that." She giggled, padding over to him happily. "But, by the trinity, you've gotten old." She teased playfully.

The old man raised a hand to fix his bowtie, clearing his throat in a dignified manner. "With wisdom comes many a wrinkle, you know… You should count yourself quite luck indeed." Shrugging in a stilted way and glancing around before setting his book down upon a cabinet top, he arched a thin brow at her. "I don't suppose you've come for one last childhood story before the wings of womanhood carry you away?" He asked somewhat hopefully.

"Tempting…" She admitted, chewing her lip in thought as she took a seat upon the low stool, bunching her skirts up in dainty fists. "But, I should think I'd still hear a story of yours even when I've children of my own." Zelda shifted then clasping her hands in her lap as she thought back.

"…Actually…" She paused, eying him as an eager glint caught in his lenses. "I will stay for one. I was looking for Sheik, but I'm sure he'll be staying put wherever he is, around here." She gave him a grin, tilting her head as his humorous sort of appearance began to take its toll on her attentive mind. He reminded her somewhat of a penguin.

He clapped his hands enthusiastically at the girl's choice. "Good show! But, as long as we're returning to a familiarity, I insist you simply call me Shad. No need for formalities when there's a good yarn to be had, my dear!" He laughed, springing over to take the other stool and rest his elbows on the table, crinkling the map beneath them.

"On that Shiekah fellow of yours, I should say I happened upon him earlier… He wasn't in the most talkative mood, but then, the Shadow Folk never were forthright, were they?" He chuckled ponderously, mirth stretching his wrinkled face.

Zelda's ears twitched with an obsessive speed at this. "Really? You saw him? Where, Shad?" She almost spluttered, excited by the knowledge of his whereabouts… The elusive man he was.

Shad simply laughed, waving his hand in a dismissive manner. "Dear me, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were a love struck damsel, fawning over the man like that." Seeing her stiffen some, her hand taking to idly fidgeting with a lock of hair, he cleared his throat to divulge. "Either way, he passed by here not long ago, heading toward the restricted history sections, if I'm not mistaken. Don't fret, my dear, he hasn't been past again since. He should still be there."

The Princess' body relaxed at this, her easy smile returning. "Oh, that's good… Thank you… That makes things easier." She murmured, feeling a tad awkward now, though she brightened to change the subject back. "Anyway, on to a yarn, then? It'll have to be a good one, Shad, you know I haven't had one in a while." She prompted cheekily.

"A good one? My dear girl, all of them are very good. Why, take the Oocca of the Sky, for example, their technological advancements were wondrous, and we can trace its history back to a time when the Hylian people lived among the clouds with them, sharing in the developments! Frightfully fascinating stuff, If I do say so myself— "

"Shad. I know about the Oocca. You drummed that side of history into me long ago." She giggled, hiding her smirk behind a gloved hand.

Shad blinked toward the girl, stopped in his tirade as for a moment he seemed to forget his place on Earth. "O-Oh! Yes, quite… Ahem, yes…" He relented sheepishly, drumming his fingers on the table as his mind filed through his vast historical knowledge.

"Well… Why not pick one, and I'll give you a spinning diddle, eh?" He flashed a toothy smile at her, adjusting his glasses again as he settled.

Zelda's eyes rose upward in thought for a moment, delicate features schooled with pursed lips as she decided, fingers picking at her dress. There was only one thing she could think of, off hand, that she was really interested in. Starting slowly, she watched Shad closely to gauge his reaction. "…Do you know anything about, say… Ancient Hyrule and the Demon Lord, Ghirahim…?"

The old scholar's enthusiasm seemed to fade quickly, a nervous smile quirking his lips as his fingers found each other to interlock thoughtfully. A heaviness seemed to thicken the atmosphere, as if the very subject held a dangerous gravity.

"…I'm… afraid I don't… know very much about… _him_… But…" He stammered, not wanting to disappoint the girl, and yet not comfortable with her choice at all.

He sighed, seeing Zelda's face fall subtly—He could tell she'd been curious on the matter for some time, without reprieve. And if Sir Shadrian could relate and empathize with anything, it was the gnawing emptiness a question unanswered left in one's very soul.

Shirting in his seat, a light grimace flashed before he slowly began. "…I suppose I know a tad bit more than most, though. Very well…" He drew a deep breath, running his gaze along the old map as he thought of where to begin.

"Legend has it that, as my studies would denote as well, there was once a time when life as we know it left Hyrule to be protected within a sanctuary above the clouds. As far as I can tell by the research put to the matter so far, there are several geological sites the world over that seem to confirm this myth—As if large portions of earth rose up into the skies and, over time, the course of nature patched these holes to create the Hyrule congruent with maps dated around two hundred years before the Great Cataclysm."

Shad's hand rose to his chin as he seemed to lose himself in thought. "And you know, I had always found it strange that, aside from the Oocca who I can infer sustain their floating city by way of technology, these reports seemed to support that it was by divine influence that these islands in the sky were raised. By all rights, they very well might still be up there…"

Shaking his head suddenly, he seemed to divert back. "But, in any case, I stumbled upon this in my studies of the Oocca and my father's work, and so far it seems that it was caused by an outburst of demons within these lands, long ago. Ancient scriptures seem to describe it as the underworld spewing forth from fissures in the very soil, along with elevated seismic activity and a black mist... though, given what we know of the world today, I would propose that these mists were heavy storm systems or soot from early volcanic eruptions."

Zelda had made herself comfortable, defying Ganondorf once again by resting an elbow on the table and leaning her chin upon it, enraptured with Shad's account. "Yes, Sheik did mention that to me once. He told me the underworld was actually a negative plane created to balance the positive energy used when the Goddesses crafted the world, and that the first plague of evil was brought to us from it by Ghirahim, who himself was born of it. He called it the First Evil."

Keenly picking up on the Princess' addition, Shad elaborated, growing somewhat excited by an intellect that matched his, even in a youth. "Ah, yes, I do believe he would be correct in that matter… Ghirahim was indeed responsible for a plague of demons upon Hyrule in those times, while the Hylians above were unawares, if I understand my father's findings correctly. He oversaw the ferrying of demonic monsters from the netherworld, so to speak, and acted as something of a feudal lord, at the helm of the land."

His finger rose then, stopping Zelda before she could say anything more in response, as a foreboding seriousness stole Shad's face. His brows furrowed some, looking a bit concerned, as he peered over those glasses at her with congeniality.

"But, my dear, even with that said, Ghirahim was not the First Evil, by Din's Fire, no. There was another before him, who much like Ghirahim, brought an onslaught of darkness to the land… But he was far more powerful. By my understanding, the First was actually akin to a demi God in capability, and ancient tablets depicting his appearance in history often places him as the ruler of the underworld itself. Very little is documented on him in any detail, but there is an account that he once battled a lesser Goddess who oversaw the holy spirits of Hyrule. Lake Hylia is named for her, though I do not know of the Demon's title, only that he was once noted as the Imprisoned."

The Princess blanched as her eyes widened slightly, any smile fading as her gut twisted. As he spoke, she felt those feelings of doubt creep up on her again. Her jaw shifted, lips forming unspoken words for a moment, before she whispered more to herself then Shad. "But then…He lied to me…"

Hearing this, and seeing the doubt and hurt linger in the girl's eyes, Shad quickly shifted his expression to one of reassurance. "Zelda, I wouldn't say that. Perhaps he only knew so much himself, although he is a Shiekah, I suppose… But, he came here to protect you, did he not? He likely wasn't forthcoming for the want of your safety." He offered with a light smile. "I apologize if I've upset you in any way..."

Zelda cringed at his apology, waving it away with a hand as she frowned to herself. "No, no, Shad, you've done nothing to upset me… I just… When he told me about this it was… well, it was very important to me and… I suppose I don't like finding out that he only told me so much when he knew how much it meant. I thought he was being honest with me, not… selective…"

The old scholar shifted, smoothing out the crinkled map before him in an obsessive compulsive moment of weakness, before clicking his tongue sympathetically. "I suppose I could back him up on that one, I'm afraid… From what I gathered, he came here on the prophecy of the King of Evil's return, to guard you from him. I hope you don't mind my say so, but Zelda, I'm sure Sheik keeping details concerning him at bay was a wise thing of him to do."

Zelda hesitantly brushed a lock of hair over her ear, biting her lip lightly as she considered this. Whatever it was he hadn't told her, she wanted to know and if Shad was right, he may keep it from her until the Evil King appeared. Surprises made her weary, and being of an analytical mind, the Princess took great comfort in being abreast of crucial information concerning these things that haunted the horizons of her future.

"Shad… I know this may be a big ask, but…" She sighed, glancing to the side guiltily. "I don't like going behind Sheik's back, but please, if you know why he chose to hide it from me… I'd like to know. Nobody is aware of this, but Sheik and I have a relationship that isn't quite what it seems. I was hoping to act on it in future, when the opportune moment arises, if you understand my meaning…"

With a chuckle, the old man nodded sagely. "Ah, I see… Say no more. I understand. Royals bare many burdens, and matters of the heart are often set to the wayside."

"Yes, exactly." She conceded, relieved. "Please, don't breathe a word of it until we're able to be as we'd like… I have a bit of a plan as to how things might unfold in our favor, but until then, it's strictly to remain discreet. I'm sure you can guess the uproar to be had when it comes time for me to pick a suitor and its… well, not who they will expect."

Shad smiled sincerely, removing his glasses with a flick of his wrist to send her an understanding look. "A gentleman never tells, my dear." Taking a small cloth from his vest pocket, he began to clean the rims with care.

"I can only guess, Zelda, as to why exactly he would be cautious with this information, but as I said before, unfortunately I do know very little. The extent of what I do know however, is that the notable scholars who researched this corner of history, including my father, believed there to be a very strong connection between the Imprisoned and the King of Evil. It is a very hard come by documentation, the compilation drafts of their collective work, but I have read footnotes my father made in his own journals that suggested a curse was placed upon those who felled the Demon's blight."

The small framed spectacles were returned to his face with a studious nod, and Zelda could tell it was a movement he'd made many times before, years worth of repetition in such a simple act showing his true nature as an academic. "It was very hard to translate the original Shiekah verse, but it appears that the Imprisoned used his dying breath and the last of his power to preserve a piece of his soul. He warned that this would manifest his hatred anew, and forever doom their descendants to an unending battle, reborn with them in each new life over the ages."

Lacing his fingers with satisfaction in his explanation, Shad concluded with familial pride. "My father proposed the theory that the King of Evil possessed the fragmented soul, mingled with his own, and in doing so allowed the curse to be realized. Whether the Gerudo people, or even the Evil King himself, realized this, remains a mystery. But it would explain the source of such a twisted mind, wouldn't you agree?"

Zelda sat silent, allowing this new information to soak in. Her clever mind attended to this knowledge carefully, picking through it to see how this changed things in any way, and what it meant for her. Slowly, as her crystalline gaze traced the map's geography, it began to make sense.

"Yes… And if that were true, it would be my lineage bearing the descendants of the ones who felled him. That would explain, at least, why he presents such a danger, if a demonic essence spurs his darkest actions, especially with the vengeance he seeks from us." She conceded, fingers idly rising to brush her cheek thoughtfully.

"That would also fit with what Sheik has told me about my heritage in relation to the Shiekah, even if it was somewhat cryptic at the time. He informed me of the Shadow Folk becoming our guardians as a result of Ghirahim's actions… If he was born of the same place, he was probably connected to the First Evil very closely as well."

With a sigh, she ran her fingers through her hair in exasperation. "It is little wonder why Sheik wants to shield me from these things. With all the darkness following my family, if he had told me of it all I'd have been too terrified to sleep for years, foreboding dreams aside… I feel so guilty now for doubting his intentions, even momentarily… Being the last of his kind and holding all these grave secrets while I enjoyed a pampered childhood must have taken a heavy toll, I'm not surprised he started training me so soon."

Zelda immediately flinch though, when she realized she'd said that, seeing Shad's brows sweep upward with a surprised blink.

"Training you?" He queried, looking quite taken aback. "In combat?"

The Princess nodded reluctantly, grimacing slightly as her eyes closed. "…Again, Shad, discretion if you please…"

As his shock slowly subsided, the scholar nodded empathetically, forcing a smile. "Well, I can't say I'm not surprised, but now that you mention it, my dear, I think that sounds entirely fitting." He admitted considerately, pushing his stool back to stand.

"In fact, after a moment of reflection, I'm rather glad he's taken such precaution. A Shiekah like that ought to know what's in your best interests, truly… Though I can't say I'm well appraised on the arts of battle, I'm afraid. But, I'll have you know I am a rather formidable opponent in a speed reading contest." He chuckled, making his way over to the wooden shelving holding his effects.

The Princess giggled, her mood lightening once more as she, too, moved to take her leave. Leaning a hand against the table, she watched him tuck the book beneath his arm and turn toward her, and Zelda paused to give him an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry to leave you with my troubles, Shad, really… thank you for listening to me… and for all you've told me."

He strode over to her, beaming down at the girl with mirth as his thin hands worked to furl the map upon the table, intent on taking it with him. "Nonsense, Zelda. I enjoyed it." He told her with a respectful incline of his head. "We both came here to find something, and we each leave with a story."

Tying the ribbon around the dusty chart, it was tucked beneath the wiry scholar's arm along with the leather bound book he always seemed to carry. "Well, I have to be getting on now. Tally ho, and all that… If you should ever need counsel, I'll do my best to indulge. Until then, best wishes upon your birthday."

With a final tip of his glasses, Shad left her with a gentle gait, straight posture carrying him with a strength one wouldn't expect of his age. The room felt oddly empty without him, and Zelda found herself wanting to move on quickly, giving the chamber a brief once over as she thought on their conversation. A weight had been lifted from her shoulders, somehow, and as she made her way back out into the library halls she felt refreshed.

Smiling to herself, she realized that this day had brought her another step closer to unlocking the riddle of her attendant.

Who, in the meantime, had locked himself away in the lower levels, as he had been doing for some time now. Paper trails had frustratingly led the Gerudo all over these libraries, searching through countless versions of history, thousands of edicts and overturned laws, until after months of study he found himself in one of the oldest and least traveled chambers of the entire castle. He was closer now than ever before, carefully inspecting any parchment or scroll to be found here, every letter of every word, inching ever closer to the loophole he sought.

To even enter this grand storage of records required the permission of a member of the Royal family, and Ganondorf, while being as secretive as possible about his forays here, knew very well that Zelda would give him that were he caught by another. Like all other errors he'd made in his time here, it would be swept under the rug with only a caution put to him, and he'd continue on his way… A benefit of Zelda's preference for him that did not go unappreciated.

He currently sat hunched over an oaken desk, flipping through pages and scouring them with a fierce scrutiny. Silver hair was loose, falling over his broad shoulders and sculpted back in light waves, his gloves replaced by thin bandage around his wrists—save for the right hand, which saw it spiraled around his thumb and knuckles to conceal the holy mark. The Shiekan garb he wore had faded in colour slightly since its creation, though remain largely unchanged. His boots lay strewn beneath the desk as large feet basked in relief.

It was obvious he had come here with the intent of staying a while.

Ganondorf's crimson eyes closed with a heavy sigh as he took his palms to his face, massaging the skin tiredly as he leaned back into the sturdy chair. If it existed, it was in this series of rulings, he was sure of it… after so long, working methodically by way of elimination, he'd narrowed it down to being within the last few copies. But finding what could be not but a single passage in the massive volume was a task in itself.

His fingers slid down his cheeks some, tired gaze scanning the stone wall ahead of him with a bored look. He would be glad when this hunt was over; not that he disliked the new wealth of information he'd inevitably picked up in his search, but the fact remained he was out of touch in his researching abilities. The Gerudo hadn't combed through such expanses of scripture and historical accounts since the days of old, when he'd sought the holy relic.

Before that, he could recall letting others simply do the researching for him, only to have him take their findings for himself. Ganondorf's name was credited with many insights and achievements that weren't his to claim, not the least of which included his short feud with the composer brothers of the old kingdom. A dark chuckle escaped him at the memory—The fools slaved for a few good years unlocking the power behind the melodies of that sacred ocarina, only to have him steal their work for his own personal gain. And then, they died with their work unknown. He'd seen to their deaths personally when they'd threatened to take the matter up with the King, who had already grown weary of Ganondorf's interest in his family's artifacts.

_They had it coming… a musical career can only take one so far. I did them a favor, cutting it short to spare them the disgrace of becoming has-beens, _he thought with a devilish grin; _in fact, I should thank them for their contributions…were it not for that damned lullaby, none of this would've been possible._

Lazily turning another page, his feral smirk slowly faded into a look of suspicion, and then a greedy anticipation. There, hand scribed by quill upon the faded parchment, a still valid law stared back at him, each cursive letter winking like gold as his eyes traced them.

_IIV, XII; Reign of HRM Greius Kaepora Hyrule; _

_When a train of events, pursuing the invariable result of absolute despotism, is taken in the face of liberty and or the freedoms and alliances of the fiefdoms, taken under the banner of a nation;_

_Or else; by way of the activation or threatening of wars of attrition, the death of the current monarch with which he leaves the throne unattended for a time by any cause, and other such conditions in which the stability of Hyrule and all borders therein become endangered;_

_Subsidiary parties may take regency, in accordance with the municipal protection act set about by Julian and Bartholomew, in which the active guardian of the heir apparent should safeguard the throne until such time as the conditions of ruling are met by said heir, in substitute for a lack of other apparent and or suitable candidacies. _

For a good few moments, Ganondorf simply stared at the page in disbelief, holding it close to his face as if the words may be some sort of hallucination, about to disappear. The longer he stared, the more physically real the passage seemed, taking hold of the darkest corner of his heart and letting the shadows flicker to life. It stirred him, appealing to his greed and his lust for power, whipping up that sense of entitlement and sending his mind spinning with all its tantalizing promises. So long repressing his nature for the sake of this act… these words unlocked a part of himself he'd ignored for quite while, and how good it felt to bask in it once more.

Crimson eyes reread it over and over, spying keywords and assuring himself that they were there.

Despotism and a threat to Hyrule itself; _the return of the King of Evil_.

Death of the monarch, leaving the throne unattended; _to a young Zelda, unable to take it._

Lack of other suitable candidacies; _no queen, no others groomed._

The active guardian takes regency; _which with the death of the King, and her mother already in her grave, would be her attendant alone._

A twisted, dark joy lit up his weathered features as his heart raced with an malevolent delight—not only would he take the throne by default, he needn't even break his guise to do so. Better yet, now he had an applicable, practical reason to satisfy his desire to spill royal blood… and the child, his Zelda, would truly be alone in this world with nobody but him to turn to at all.

Never would she become that detached, noble intentioned, fragile disgrace of a woman who'd sought to end his claims to power—his birthright—with her feeble minded attempts to control him and even destiny itself. She would be what he wished her to be, proud and willing to oblige him in the ultimate revenge upon her namesake as he twisted the remnants of her spirit beyond redemption.

A self indulgent laugh escaped him, rumbling with a higher, genuine pitch as it echoed briefly within the small chamber, bouncing off the stone and surrounding him. Shaking his head with a grin, calloused fingers ran the length of the page gratefully as the Gerudo regarded the ancient tome with a newfound fondness. Slowly, with a pleased sigh, he closed it, thinking to the future with a cunning mind, swift and refined like a newly sharpened blade to cut away at any hindrance or distraction.

As the volume was set aside, its usefulness spent, the Gerudo leaned back in his chair, content to rest weary eyes. However, his internal victory only enjoyed solitude for a short time, as the familiar tingle upon the back of his neck began to flare up, spreading down to trail his spine with warmth. It seemed that Zelda, too, was in the libraries in search of something she knew would be found there. She'd had a habit of following him everywhere he seemed to go whenever possible since the day he'd arrived, but as the recent months passed, the Princess had begun to actively seek him out with a notable intent.

Another little victory of his, he supposed. Since the night his control had slipped, momentarily throwing everything to the wayside for his own perverse satisfaction, fleeting and unrepeated as it was thus far, Zelda's entire attitude toward him had become more possessive and intense. Whereas before, simple hormones had mixed with her adoration of him to create something of a shy and curious crush, now Ganondorf could easily tell those feelings had evolved as her body had. Left with time to think and let these emotions grow, the Princess was now prone to openly chasing his affection, seeming desperate to rekindle whatever had sparked the initial kiss.

He'd restrained himself, sometimes painfully so, and allowed the strange mutual attraction to breathe, withdrawing his appreciation for her and providing nothing but the scarce, subtle signs that he still held interest. Though at times, this proved entirely challenging with Zelda's becoming more forward and decisive in her desires, he'd managed himself well enough not to give in to his more primal natures, as he had done before, in taking dangerous and obvious advantage. Staving off advancements served to be a wise choice, as his impropriety with the girl earlier than necessary would have raised alarm quickly, especially with her inability at the time to heal herself or cover any blemishes. There was also the King to be concerned with, and the sovereign's uncanny ability to appear and be privy to anything remotely inappropriate to do with his child, though he seemed to be conveniently absent at all other times.

And yet, through it all Zelda had responded remarkably, with the flicker of womanly inquisitiveness seemingly fanned into a flame of want for him—she'd tasted what he could offer and wanted more, yet he wouldn't cater to her any further, waiting patiently for pent-up emotions to become an unyielding obsession rather than a mere crush. Like a fine wine, their odd relationship had, and was still indeed steadily maturing into one he could fully enjoy; much more… full-bodied, so to speak, yet still flavoured with the delicious undertones of innocence that had first tested his willpower.

A timid and faint shuffling sound became apparent behind him, and it was met the scraping of his chair against the stone as he stood, hands heavy atop the desk. Turning slowly to make his way across the chambers, the Gerudo stopped at the small arched entry, peering past to spot the Princess coming down from the stairwell. Leaning a forearm against the masonry, his pleased mood shone through with a benign smirk towards her, waiting to be found.

Zelda, as she came to the bottom of the steps to look around, curious and following the directions given by Shad, let her skirts fall with a sway as she released them. The girl took in the now familiar details of the smaller chambers; dimly lit by the flicker of lanterns and candles, the air smelt dusty and somewhat stale as high shelves filled with all manner of records fueled the scent. Not a thing out of place, perfectly preserved, with a long trailing runner of red carpet—faded over years of being there—leading toward the restorations room in which the Shiekah usually settled himself to make use of the desk.

As her crystalline gaze followed this path, it landed on the object of her thoughts, prompting icy pink lips to turn up in a happy smile as her eyes immediately lit up.

"So you were down here!" She chimed brightly, tottering over to him quickly as her hems skimmed the carpet. "Are you really so keen as to read through the entire contents of these libraries, piece by piece?" Satin gloved hands clasped themselves charmingly in front of her.

She had a habit of looking as appealing as possible when in his presence, staring up at him with pupils wide, and today seemed to be no different—his smirk pulled wider as Ganondorf's hand was compelled forward to brush hair over the fragile shoulder plate.

"When I start something, Zelda, I like to see the task finished." He stated matter-of-factly, ushering her gently into the smaller room as he turned.

Zelda could see he'd busied himself, as strewn about the desk was various papers, scrolls and books, unfurled and scattered with recent use. She had always found it amusing, for as long as she'd known him, that such a warrior class person as a Shiekah could and did study and partake of Royal resource as often and feverously as he. Seeing the boots lying around where he had sat, the Princess was spurred into her likewise habit, kicking off her shoes flippantly to leave them beside the entry as she padded silently across the stone, enjoying the light chill on her feet.

The disguised Gerudo watched her go about fetching another chair from the few in the corner, dragging it without grace to sit beside his as she hitched up her skirts high—in an unladylike manner—to flop down upon it and cross her legs upon the seat. There would be no dainty ankle tucked behind the leg here, no, not when there needn't be.

Shaking his head with a light snicker to himself, he moved to join her; _Some things simply never change,_ he thought, refreshed and relieved as usual to see this. No matter how old she got, or how adept at standing to occasion on a call to impress, those childhood habits would never leave her… Especially not in private company or an informal setting. Away from watchful eyes, she was herself as always, unchanged and unconverted by the expectations put to her, just as he'd requested when she'd first approached adulthood.

Giving a playful click of his tongue as he moved to reclaim his seat, he eyes her mischievously. "Bad form." He mused warningly, though truly unaffected.

"Oh, as if you actually care." She shot back with a haughty tilt of her head, removing her gloves with some distain for them evident on her delicate features. With a relieved sigh to be rid of them, the pair was tossed negligently across the oaken desk as the Princess propped a bare elbow atop the back of her chair, leering at him.

"I ran across Sir Shadrian on the way to find you, and just so you know, Sheik, he told me a wonderful story." She cooed, almost as if trying to conjure some jealousy. "Very entertaining… So you'd best not simply go back to being a bore with your nose in the books." Her foot began to bounce expectantly upon her knee at this.

"Really." Ganondorf rolled his eyes, appearing bored as he settled and took to rapping his fingers atop the hard wood of the restoration desk. "Which one was that again? The wiry old fool with glasses, who pesters me constantly about the Shiekah's connections to birds, or some such?"

Zelda giggled, though quickly stifled it as she attempted to look displeased with him. "He's not an old fool, Sheik. He's a fine gentleman, and a better story teller than you."

But as she made the playful jibe, she was reminded of the truth to that fact, as the mirth slowly left her eyes. "…He doesn't leave out important details just because it suits him…" She muttered quietly, looking evasively to the side and becoming silent.

Though it may have appeared to the Princess as the jealousy she'd been prying for, the Gerudo's eyes grew bright with a flash of anger and suspicion. "What was that?" He hissed, sounding offended.

Such a broad statement could've meant any number of things, and he wasn't about to let it slide.

With a huff, the Princess allowed her arm to drop into her lap with a slump, giving him a cynical look, lower lip pouted slightly as her frustration from earlier came back. "Don't get snippy with me. I know very well you haven't told me the whole truth of things, and I just want to know why. I mean honestly, you might try to avoid it, but the two of us are bonded in such a way that I don't think we should have to hide anything!"

Her brows furrowed in disapproval as her eyes scanned him up and down, like a suspicious housewife with an unfaithful husband. "Or do you not feel comfortable being so close to me? Is the 'purpose of your existence' not good enough for your trust?"

A deep and vicious scowl had drawn his face in to match the look she gave him, and to say that he wasn't annoyed at the way it held no effect upon her would be a lie. There was a time when the girl would shrink back against his fierce gaze, weary of his ire, but with each passing month it seemed she was merely growing one of her own to contest his. For the moment though, her choice use of words like 'bonded' and 'whole truth' had him on edge.

"What _exactly_ did he tell you?" He demanded, standing to loom over the girl threateningly on instinct, his fists clenched at his sides as if ready to strike as the Gerudo glared down.

Zelda's posture straightened in an almost lazy way of standing up to him, her frown becoming a cruel scowl inherited from the one he wore. "When you told me about the Shiekah blood in my veins, it made my whole world feel stable, like I'd finally gotten the answer to why I am so… so different!" Her hand flailed quickly, before a surprisingly imposing finger was pointed up at him.

"Telling me about Ghirahim and giving such a speech about darkness, and not to be afraid of it when I have it within me," She scolded, "And yet you conveniently left out the fact that he wasn't the First Evil, and in fact, the _actual_ First Evil was entirely more powerful than that! And left a curse on my line, made real with the King of Evil's birth, who is supposed to becoming back any time now? Don't you think that's important information!" She huffed, crossing her arms indignantly.

Relief had begun to wash through him as the girl snarled, ranting up at him with what was sounding to be a petty quandary, until she mentioned him—the real him—specifically. Struggling as his surprise flashed behind his crimson eyes, Ganondorf's chest tightened painfully as he realized he was being faced with something he'd feared since he got here; he didn't know what to say.

His scowl faded back into a puzzled look, as his mind tried to decipher what she'd said. The First Evil… wasn't Ghirahim…? A curse made real with his birth? _What in the hell did that crazy old loon tell her?_ But as Zelda settled, her brow twitching as she caught on to his confusion, he fell back into his chair with a dismissive sound.

"Is that all? Feh…" The Gerudo shrugged, resuming his bored look as he attempted to evade the topic.

"What do you mean, 'is that all'? Isn't that enough?" Zelda gaped, leaning forward as she gripped her knees. "How could you be so casual about this?"

With a heavy sigh, Ganondorf took to crossing his arms, looking agitated as he fixed her with a flat stare. "Zelda, I told you what you needed to hear at the time, even when I probably shouldn't have. I needn't to go into every little detail about things that won't affect you, just to whip up your worries. The King of Evil is prophesized to return in your lifetime, and I have come to deliver you from his wrath; no matter what has happened in the long and arduous history we share, that fact will remain true and that should be the only thing you concern yourself with."

Turning it back upon her with her own words, he was careful to feign a flash of hurt. "Or am I to understand that _you_ do not trust _me_?"

Blinking with a helpless look as her anger faded, the Princess struggled to find the words as guilt rose up on her, fingers fidgeting nervously. "I… No, of course I do, but…" Her eyes wavered on his filled with feelings she couldn't express.

"Zelda…" He rumbled quietly, leaning forward with the ghost of a heartening smile to cup her chin gently. "There isn't any need to go skulking around with conspiracy theories in your mind. If you had asked me, I'd have told you, just as I always do."

Staring at him as she took to chewing her lip, the Princess slowly nodded, looking slightly ashamed of herself as golden curls bounced lightly with the movement. "I know… I'm sorry for being like this, I just… I suppose I just don't want anything to go wrong between us, and when I thought perhaps you had been hiding something from me, I couldn't stand it..."

"No, it is my fault for not bringing these things up with you as you've grown." He conceded falsely, expertly masking his lack of information. "I should've picked up on your want to know. The fact that I didn't means I've been neglectful, and if so, I have not been fulfilling my duties as well as I could have. I shouldn't have heeded your father's request to keep you in the dark about these things…"

Pointed ears twitched as her suspicion came rushing back, thought not upon him. "…My father's request?" She narrowed her eyes some, her hand rising to grip his as his thumb rested on her cheek. "What did he ask of you?" She whispered.

_Ah, there we go, _he thought maliciously, _Seems the King serves his purpose after all._

Recalling the warning he'd received the day Talleday had sought to get him in strife, his face betrayed nothing of his inner grin. "When he realized that you and I were growing closer, he warned me against teaching you of your specific history, and that of the Shiekah. He didn't feel you were ready for it, and any matters concerning death, or that of a gruesome nature, shouldn't be shared, despite the place darkness holds in my culture… and unfortunately, your own, though it isn't readily discussed. He also informed me that I am to keep my distance from you, besides what obligation entails."

Zelda squeezed his hand as her temper boiled beneath porcelain skin. "Why am I not surprised…" She hissed to herself, disappointed in the King.

_That explains why Sheik has withdrawn from me so much in the past year or so, it wasn't us at all, but my Father decided to get in the way and control my life in every facet… Again._

"What right does he have to tell you what you can and cannot do with me?" She snapped suddenly, affronted by the very thought. "He was never there for me as you have been; doesn't care to know me as you do… Yet he has the gall to interfere in my life, taking away everything that makes me happy, in an attempt to render me nothing more than a walking statuette he could be seen in public with? I'm surprised the man even remembers my birthday!"

She threw herself back into the chair with a morose anger, clutching his hand still as it fell to be held in her lap. "…To be perfectly honest though, he only remembered so that he had an excuse to hold a ball and throw a tourney without the taxpayers arching up about frivolous expense."

Ganondorf had to force the chuckle to die in his throat as the girl continued her tirade, utterly insulted by it all as she seemed to be. "And he wants me to play the lyre at my own ball! Goddesses forbid, he hire entertainment for my enjoyment and allow me respite from the parade of false smiles and dignities he has me walk every other day…"

_How sweet it is to see the Royal family's selfish nature bite them in the arse, without fail, over countless generations._

Finally, after learning of Zelda's issues with her father and subtly fueling her indignation and dislike for him over months, it appeared he had her at the perfect point to bounce back from his death without issue. Which was excellent, now that the King was set to die within a few days, if the Gerudo had his way—especially on the promise of a swift rise to the throne on his part. But there was just one catch; it would appear far too suspicious, now that he'd found the context in which the law regarding it worked. Quickly, his clever mind concluded the easiest way would be to go about it in the same way Talleday had fallen… But this, with the attention and corollary it would produce, held far more danger than the murder of a soldier; even one of high rank.

Still, he was confident something would arise to be taken advantage of. In the busy lives of the Hylian upper class, even the most innocuous things became dramatic and overblown. He'd find what he needed to pull it off somewhere over the course of a ball and a tourney.

Ganondorf took to patting the girl's hand fondly, settling her now that he'd seen enough. "Hence my regret in listening to him… I do not make mistakes twice, and especially not where you are concerned, if I can help it at all. Not that I take pleasure in rebelling against the King, mind you, but as you've said, regarding him as a father is a different matter entirely." He grimaced.

Zelda nodded in agreement, conceding a light smile as her crystalline gaze wavered on him fondly. "And to think, all this time, I had doubted the presence of something between us…" She gave a self depreciating chuckle and shrugged, relieved. "But, it was just protocol getting in the way as usual. In daylight hours, we hide it, but when we're alone as night falls or together in a dim lit room, it comes out again, doesn't it?"

A thick silver brow rose as he considered her meaning, but he knew what she was referring to. "…Not to the extent that you would like…" He baited, curious, as his crimson gaze flicked downward for an instant before it returned.

"Not to the extent you would either, given that it was inadvertently prevented by my father's request." Zelda's head turned to allow a sideways glance to linger upon his weathered features, something wry and mischievous in the way the corner of her lips flirted heavenward. "If things were only up to you, though… I'd have been in your bed the night you kissed me, age be damned, would I not?"

Biting back his initial urge to deny this, as he would have with anyone else who'd put such a question to him, the Gerudo's twisted mind only brought back the fantasy; the warped amusement in the fact that she was correct, and could have—would have—lost herself to him then, were things any different. There was a part of him that knew, deep down, such a thing was morally wrong, and yet, reflecting back to his original thoughts on the matter, it was also very flexible. If it were any other child his lips had grazed, Ganondorf knew, somehow, that he would feel differently about it… Perhaps even be disgusted by his attraction to them. But, Zelda was not only a different matter spiritually, but also by principle; within her was something sacred he'd longed to defile, to crush and destroy, holding the broken shards of it within his powerful grasp.

There was a hatred in him for that piece of her, unbridled and separate from his reasonable scorn, that at times defied even his own explanation. There were many things he hated her for; for what she represented, caused, was a part of, and yet all of these had an origin he could trace if he reflected upon them strongly enough. Even setting aside his pride to truly look at himself, there were causes behind even the strongest points of his rage and loathing, twisted as they may have been over the years and various depressions, insanities and bias he'd suffered.

When he thought of that, the girl's word echoing in his head like so many voices, the thought that he did indeed carry a curse—the manifestation of an ancient demon's odium—rang true with a vile and crisp acuity. Perhaps he truly was a being of utter darkness and despair, destined only to cause destruction and pain in his wake, before turning upon himself when nothing else remained. A man condemned by all, existing to spite the Gods themselves. Even then, how could he be certain any of his hatred and rage was truly his? He had nothing to compare it to, no perception of anything different.

Had he lived his entire life as a puppet, without realizing it? ...or was it merely a strength he drew from, as he did with Power?

_How ironic, _his mind spoke unconsciously, broken for a moment as his body instinctively reached out to take hold of his relic, only to be disappointedly reminded of its absence; _All this time, reassuring a girl who would be my enemy when her flaws and weaknesses are shown, and yet in the rare moment when… I… may require comfort, loathe as I am to admit it, I can't even allow her to return it…_

…_In the same form…_

"Yes, you would have… And a lot of things could be said about that." He whispered, more to himself as he slowly drew away from his haunting thoughts to focus upon her angelic features, letting everything go to simply allow himself to be in awe. "But, honestly… I couldn't give less of a damn as to what those things might be. Not then, not now, and I almost can't believe that it didn't happen, purely on a concern for repercussions. Though, I'd be lying if I said that were it to have happened now, rather than then, you'd awaken tomorrow in my sheets, regardless." He admitted, truthfully, without the lust that could've tainted such a statement.

Zelda watched him as things unnamed and largely unspoken flew behind his crimson irises, and her cheekiness faded as he spoke with sincerity and need wavering subtly in his rich voice. Her ears twitched in delight of the sound, soothing with a timbre that conveyed all the complexity and intelligence he possessed. That voice could pull her from her deepest nightmares, when he spoke like that.

A charmed and serene smile settled upon her countenance, lending her the air of maturity and beauty that had earned her looks such renown. Her fingers glided softly over his own rough hand, tracing the bones and tendons beneath, in all their deadly strength.

"There are so many things between us that demand heavy repercussions. Still, we continue them. It is you and I against the world, if you recall. A lot of the things you say hold true, and you shouldn't doubt them just because you offered them to me. You once said, 'many things are hidden in the darkness, waiting to be found'… You and I might seem dark in many ways, but we shouldn't shy away from it just because of that fact." She offered softly, leaning closer with an intimately fond shimmer in her eyes, highlighted by the flicker of a nearby lantern.

"And given that you don't make the same mistakes twice… I think it's about time you kissed me again." She guided with a wise tone, squeezing the hand with a tender encouragement.

A tired chuckle rumbled in the Gerudo's throat as he looked upon her, considerately, his smirk returning without cruelty. She truly made him wonder if their odd relationship was a product of his manipulation or hers. The Princess, in a relatively short time, had already gained his mannerisms, his way of thinking… even some of his temper, though she perhaps had a better handle on it. She could shatter glass with a fierce look if she wished. Somehow, it seemed he'd underestimated how alike they might become, and what effect that would have on him. Perhaps this is what endeared her to him so; his vanity acting in the strangest of ways as he saw himself reflected in her.

The best of himself, no less.

Zelda, taking the moment that he spent in thought as hesitation, curled a fist into the loose fabric around his neck, and catching him off guard managed to pull him within an inch of her nose.

"Do it or I'll make that noise you hate." She hissed through a smirk.

A grin flashed across Ganondorf's mouth with a feral glint upon his canines, before the short distance between them was closed quickly, her lips soft upon his as her eyes closed in ecstacy—just as she'd seen in romantic plays, replicated purposely so that nothing would be amiss. There was a certain amount of sweetness to it, yet it seemed to Zelda as if it was a hollow and staged thing, lacking the flare of the first. When she felt him break away by no more than a hair, her eyes cracked open, a bit confused.

Delicate brows furrowed toward him, icy pink lips brushing against his as the moved to speak. "…That… didn't feel quite the same…" she blinked, the entirety of her vision occupied by his eyes, shimmering against the lanterns fire.

"That's because…" He purred, an enchantingly dangerous pulse of gold rushing through his irises, "…You want more than a taste, now."

Before the Princess could so much as draw another breath through her teeth, his mouth covered hers once more. Though, this time, it was very different; he had tilted his head to a slight angle, and she felt sharp teeth hungrily linger in wait. One of those treacherous fangs pricked the pout of her smile, a forceful grip settling upon her shoulders as she was pulled into it, as the faintest tang of blood dabbled across her tongue. Zelda's whole body felt numb when his own flicked out across her lips within the devouring embrace, like electricity sparking across her flesh with alarm, desire and alien stimulation.

He was licking the trickle of blood from her lips like a hungry beast, appetite for her increasing ten fold, and that sent a shock of excitement coursing through her veins as much as it did a slight confusion, and perhaps even a hint of apprehension. The girl's eyes were open wide now, unable to close as all her preconceptions of kissing and romance were suddenly shattered. His tongue glided across the bottom of her teeth, exploring, consuming; she could taste her own blood upon it, mingled with his exotic flavour as it made her heart beat like a wild drum.

The firm yet fleeting caress of his fingers upon her bare arms, possessive yet so tender, sent shivers through her; the warmth of his breath fanning out across her cheeks, reddening them… Everything seemed heightened as suddenly, with her hands moving of their own accord to brush his thighs and stabilize herself, Zelda recognized a strange pining below her stomach. Not dissimilar to the way she felt when she watched corded muscle rippling beneath his taught skin, battle scarred and leather textured by the suns rays… But it was focused, stronger, and spreading through her entire frame like wildfire from a single point within.

Was this how she made him feel, when he'd look upon her with those longing stares, warring with himself?

A muscled arm had coiled itself around her waist, drawing her in as she realized, somehow, the distance between them no longer existed. Starved fingertips raked across her back, tickling her through delicate fabrics, as her weight resettled upon his lap. Once again, Zelda found herself straddling his thighs, unable to place how exactly he'd managed to move her so slyly. She could feel his touch traveling fast, winding into her curls with guilty pleasure and giving gentle tugs to the ends. His other hand had moved from her arm to trail down her side and to mid thigh, causing the girl to twitch unconsciously as it started again in a slow upward sweep, pulling up her skirts with it.

Ganondorf knew that this was far more than the simple kiss she'd requested, but he found himself unable to stop in the face of such temptation; alone with the young woman in a largely non-traveled chamber, dimly lit by the flicker of lantern light, illuminating every curve and line, every stitched hem, with such lustful promise. He'd restrained himself long enough from something that should have been taken when he'd originally pleased—the Gerudo King was not a man to be kept waiting, or restricted from that which he wanted.

Pure untainted flesh, like fresh snow in winter's hold, was splayed out before him as a wonderland; fascinating him, beguiling him, her untrained body reacting to his every contact. All the signals were there, the girl unawares and thus unable to hide them. Her skin had grown warm, flustered against his, with rosy cheeks and twitching legs. He was almost certain that, were Zelda a fully grown and experienced woman, she would not appeal to him in such a delectable, teasing way.

It was her lack of practice that excited him the most, in many ways—with no concept of the sexual, allowing her to explore her instinct and desire by intuition was a glorious game to be part of. The way her fingertips leisurely curled against him and stroked his navel, without her even realizing, or the slight roll of her hips as she constantly readjusted herself to accommodate his advances.

The Gerudo hadn't intended upon taking her here, but with the way their interlude was going, it looked to be swiftly turning that way.

Itching to proceed, starved for it as he was, Ganondorf broke the kiss with his ravenous teeth scraping down her jaw, nipping eagerly at the delicately pointed ear as the Princess' head tilted to the side in an autonomous fashion. Her breathing had become noticeably shallow with a quickened pace, spurring his fingers further up her thigh as his other hand continued to twist itself in golden tresses.

The light caress of his touch vanished for a moment upon her leg, and much to the Gerudo's pleasure, a disappointed mew flew from the girl's swollen lips. Zelda felt a wicked grin spread against her neck, as the slightest flounce traced the curve of her knickers beneath the tussled skirts. A thrilling quiver passed through her at the intimate touch, tearing a small gasp away as her hands, almost in panic, clutched at his hips. Her nails bit into the skin tight garb as a sinister and pleased growl purred low into her ear, fragile frame tensing up as the fingertips returned; this time, they stayed, kneading the flimsy material between her legs.

Ganondorf drew deep of the scent of her hair as it gently fell about his face, the sweet and tropical smell flavoured with the taste of her. It refreshed him, like the fresh picked fruits of a scorching summer, delicious and rare even to a King of Thieves. He could feel her shudder against him ever so slightly, overwhelmed as it seemed she was with what little of his skill she'd been privy to, struggling to keep her herself upright.

Hand twisted to cup her most forbidden treasure, an expert thumb landed upon the height of her sensitivity teasingly as the previous fingertips delved lower to encompass all in pleasurable ministrations. He could feel her excitement through the undergarment already, seeping through to coat his fingers in the lightest sheen, and it drove him past the point of no return.

It was self justifying—Children could not feel such lust; bodies ready and writhing for more. She was most definitely a woman, and _his_ woman at that.

Zelda's body jerked defensively as a flick of his wrist brought the sensation to a new level of intensity. She knew instantly, by the way the hem tugged and cut into her skin, that he'd bypassed her underwear completely now to touch her without restriction. Her thighs threatened to clamp around the invasive hand on instinct, unfamiliar as it was, though the strange well of heat in her belly wouldn't allow this for long.

The girl's back arched as legs parted slightly, welcomingly, with the dipping of his attention to glide down toward her core. It seemed surreal to her, the further they proceeded, as if she were caught in some sort of dreamlike haze. She couldn't identify exactly what she was feeling, or the origin or purpose of the sensations, but as they continued Zelda felt herself compelled to comply and encourage. With every twitch of his finger, every fleeting nibble to her ear and the sweep of his tongue at the crook of her neck, something primal and selfish grew within her; she'd never felt anything like what she did now, not physically nor mentally, as the act consumed her mind and body.

The Princess could almost feel parts of her flesh burning with jealousy, wishing his mouth was upon them. Such a strange and foreign notion it seemed, never having thought upon this and never knowing of its existence beforehand, in awe of it as she was—standing upon the precipice of a new horizon, filled with new possibilities and perceptions, awakening within and surprising her with its familiarity. There was something natural and close about what he was doing to her, and she wondered how it was she could know something so innately without ever having been aware.

It was this realization that prompted her, curious yet predicting the effect it would have, to remove her hand from his hip and allow it to trace the muscled line downwards to his groin. She noticed, with some surprise, that there was a protrusion curving there beneath the dark fabric, firm to the touch like a tensed muscle and radiating an inviting warmth. Pressing down upon it, slender fingers curled affectionately to grasp it through the garb, and Zelda's crystalline eyes, hazy with sensation, lit up as it ripped a low purr from the man buried in her neck.

Tentatively, the Princess continued, blushing heavily with the rather naughty realization that he must have been experience what she was; Zelda enjoyed that fact more than she should have. There was something about the way he murmured with the faintest grunt, somewhat of a moan hitched in his throat, that she took a liking to. Her internal delight was only heightened by the view of his muscular frame tensing with the odd twitch as his pleasure became evident—she smiled wickedly to herself, overly pleased with the newfound ability to make such a powerfully capable man, world weary and battle hardened with a stature that dwarfed her own, writhe beneath her fingers in return.

Getting the courage up, Zelda inclined her head to mimic his actions, allowing her tongue to trace his jugular before her perfect teeth found his pierced earlobe to nibble and teasingly pull at the stud there.

That did it.

A moment of weightlessness threw the room into a blur, the lanterns as streaks before her eyes as her back connected hard against wood with an audible shunt, held there by a feral grip digging into her arms. In a shocked bewilderment, crystalline eyes frantically searching the immediate area for explanation, Zelda realized with a freezing apprehension that she was now pinned down atop the oaken desk. A candle to her left had been knocked with its holder, the flame dying as it rolled across the table, leaving a wax trail before it clattered to the floor. The lantern above them swung lightly, the light within flickering with the wish to fade and cast mischievous shadows over the Shiekah above, leering down at her.

Zelda stared a moment as her mind played tricks on her in the dim light, with the shock of movement—The way the lanterns fire shone to cast a camber across his eyes, they were not the crimson ones she knew. In their place, not a flash nor a hint, but full gold, crisp and exotic stared back at her. Like the day he'd first appeared, a bestial gaze, untamed and holding the power of a thousand men, had taken over his irises. But as he drew close, his breath silent as he drank her in, the trickery of the shadows was revealed and the crimson hue returned.

And so it was that Zelda, thinking it the usual glint of the fire light caught in them, dismissed those haunting eyes once again.

A hissing sound made her ears twitch nervously as the Gerudo sucked a breath through his teeth, eyeing her with all the intensity of a predator out for the kill, as suddenly the explorative mood vanished completely. The girl almost felt trapped within his gaze, cornered, as the crushing hold of her arms began to throb, sending an icy trepidation through her—He wasn't going to stop. Her heart fluttered with the thought that he was to be her first, on the eve of her birthday no less, but a strange dread settled in the pit of her stomach as well. Would it hurt? Was it normal to taste the others blood, or handle them so roughly? Was she supposed to feel nervous about doing this with the man she loved? What exactly did he look like down there? And… if she was correct in what she could piece together so far, would what she had felt down there even fit?

What would happen… if anyone found out, truly, and were that to ever happen, could she deal with the aftermath?

So many questions echoed in her mind as all the ecstasy and doubt about this most intimate act came bubbling to the surface at once. Zelda couldn't explain why or how, but her heart was beating faster every second with a terrified sense of joy, doubling when her attendant's attitude changed from encouraging to dominating, practically tearing her underwear away with a snarl. A flash of his temper like this, unfortunately for the naïve Princess, only served to quell her second guessing as the pining of desire returned in response.

The ruffled skirts were pulled up and roughly jerked out of his way, as was the neckline hiding her chest. Rough hands gripped the still budding swell of her breasts, thumbs gliding over to tease as the shallow whimpers from her came rushing back to fill the distance between them. She shuddered beneath his mouth as it took to her collarbone, searing her skin with a fiery trail until his tongue flicked out over sensitive pink before encasing the nipple in greedy lips.

Everything he did to her, no matter where the touch came, brought glimpses of heaven… How could this be wrong, in anyone's eyes, this embrace of star-crossed lovers?

"Sh-Sheik…" She whispered breathily, forcing herself to become coherent as her body shuddered with that warming splendor. "This is… how marriages are c-consummated… is it not…?"

Ganondorf winced at hearing the borrowed name—at the present moment, with his mind where it was; he just couldn't stand hearing it. His true name should be the only one to grace her sweet lips, now more than ever. But he knew there was little he could do about this, and so he swallowed his sudden distaste for it to answer, briefly.

"Yes, it is…" He snapped, somewhat impatient, ravaging her mouth in a devouring kiss to keep her silent and, at the very least, avoid hearing a false name escape her in the throes of carnal bliss.

Ever faithful of him, she took this to heart as he continued to have his wicked way. To the young Princess, this was simply the future taken ahead of time—a promise that one day, hopefully not to far off, they would be wed as intended. What would have seemed sordid to any other was a precious thing, shared between those with a close bond and steadily growing love; Zelda believed this in her heart, and nobody could ever sway her from that. Sheik did this to her, for her, with her… and she wouldn't have it any other way.

As it went on, the two losing themselves within hours undefined by clocks, garments were shed, cast uselessly to the floor as they stripped themselves of modesty and passion took hold. The Gerudo wouldn't relent, going forth with a brutal and desperate hunger, the darkness in his veins boiling to take her and leave nothing unclaimed. Even against his rough gestures, devoid of the tenderness a typical girl might expect with a mind warped by romance novels and womanly gossip, Zelda rose to meet him, learning from him and taking this as the norm.

His skills were many fold; an expert in this devious craft, forged by a virile youth spent as the sole male amongst women who would worship him. More than a few times, fresh in her inexperience, the Princess was brought up to divine heights, crashing down like a wave upon the shores, tempest tossed as an unbridled force of nature took hold of her body. Inexplicably, all else had long since left her mind, enthralled and utterly consumed by his masterful touch.

She wouldn't be truly satisfied with this though, seeking—almost in vain—to regain some control, and play her part well enough to draw the sounds she made from him also. After what seemed a torturous and sanguine waiting game, they found themselves at critical point, with the disguised Gerudo's wanton need pressed against her entrance.

Zelda stared down at the appendage from the small gap between them, chewing her swollen lip as her mind tried to fathom how this would work. His fingers were one thing—though at first she could only handle one of them within her at a time, she had slowly acclimatized to two—but the member that was poised ready there before her threatened to cleave her insides without mercy. Tussled locks of gold were splayed out behind her head in light waves, shimmering warmly in the lantern light, as Ganondorf thankfully paused for her.

"…Wait, I…" She choked out, her gut twisting with a nervous preparation. "…You… you do love me… and even if we're caught, you will stand by me in that, won't you?" Her eyes shot up to meet his, desperate to hear the only defense she may have against the pending pain. She knew he would, of course, but in this moment, Zelda needed to hear it confirmed to give her that final ounce of strength.

His hands were planted firmly at either side of her hips, trapping her beneath him as his length brushed her ever so teasingly, anxious. Ganondorf could see the myriad of emotions in those expressive eyes, the gleam of his own reflected in them—Such trust, that adoration he craved within them still, even as the fear and apprehension clawed at her mind. It was simply remarkable how she could distort everything about him and turn it into something glorious, in her view; his vicious temper, his open neglect of her as she pined for him all this time, even his most brazen lies were undetectable to her ears.

Nothing of their liaison here could be taken as the transference of love, and yet, there it was, staring up at him. He relished that, and a large part of him longed to see her heart broken, the hope he'd given torn from her chest and held before her as he squeezed the life from it. Another part—a much smaller part—never wanted to see that unconditional acceptance and devotion to him leave her, to protect and nurture it, letting it grow into something indestructible to be shared only with him.

Nobody else deserved it, but him.

In the first show of affection since they had begun the primal tryst, to smooth out the last crinkles of hesitation, a charming smile took its place on his blood reddened lips with impeccable timing. Perhaps it was the perverse glee he felt, filled with sweet anticipation that allowed such a kind look to be given, even in the height of his desire.

"Of course, my Sweet… A flash of pain, fleeting, for the reward of our union…" He purred, rich voice laden with the sweetest kind of lie—one mingled with a dose of truth, as the duplicity lay not upon the liar's tongue, but rather, instilled itself in the receptive psyche of its target. "You'll be mine forever after, and I will never let you go… I know I've promised that before… But, I am sure you'll find this quite different again."

Zelda searched him for a moment, pausing to reflect upon this, before the tiniest of nods gave consent to continue; trembling hands pressed upon the firm muscle of his chest, to keep herself steady as her eyes closed, accepting and braced.

His entry was met with forceful, instinctive physical repulsion, as the girl's body rejected the foreign intrusion, clamping down with a sublime and zesty twist of pain and pleasure. She shuddered violently beneath, cringing as the tears prickled at the corner of her lashes. Utter torment was etched into her beautiful features, and yet, this is what she had wanted all along, and even this malicious streak of passion was something she took pleasure in despite the physical toll. Torn, ripped apart before him, Zelda's innocence was gone and she was henceforth marked; none would want her, and he would never allow another to have her. He decided then, when it came time to end her father, that the last words the King would hear upon this earth would be the bittersweet recount of this moment.

She, on the other hand, wanted nothing more than to please him, to see that fond look shine in his eyes, proud, every day—somehow, Zelda felt this would be the final key in unlocking that prize. The look she'd last gotten from her mother, reborn in her future husband, with new meaning. He truly was Goddess sent, a gift to her, and not even the pained cry that was stolen from her rasped throat, nor the agonizing tear as her very flesh broke and parted in his wake, stretching her as blood seeped past, could taint the Shiekah with cruelty in her mind. She took faith in the fact that he would never truly hurt her.

Sacrifices had to be made somewhere along the line; a little pain meant nothing in the face of their destiny.

Within the final moment then as the two crossed the threshold into a mutually entwined future, closer than natural forces would ever dare to bring them, all the effort Ganondorf had gone to seemed to find early reward. Though the act may have been localized, to him it symbolized a victory over all incarnations of the wretched woman he had known—how her ancestor would have defied herself given the chance to slit his throat clean, now. In one languid motion he'd taken saccharine recompense from his eternal enemy, just as he had sworn to do—He told them their descendants would pay dearly for their actions, but this was perhaps the most gratifying part of his revenge. He could only hope that, for the girl's future embodiments, this day would be seared into her spiritual memories, like some sick heirloom the family would never rid themselves of.

It seemed that this would be a birthday the Princess would never forget, in this life or any other. How terrible was wisdom, when it brought no profit to the wise.

**Another quick A/N: Ah, this feels better. I've reigned them in to getting the story a bit more on track again, and now, I can proceed in good conscience.**

**Important details are crucial after all. Can't be having them lost to my love of chaotic romance, can I?**

…**Sorry that this chapter turned out to be so long. It wasn't going to have their tryst until the next one, but hell, there'll be too much happening so you get it now.**

**Anyway, I need sleep. 'Til the next installment, duckies, brace yourselves for my obligatory plot twist.**


	11. The Tourney Begins

Morning brought a crisp spring day to Hyrule, the air sweet with bloom and loud with applause. Once again the streets were paved with excitement and chatter as the crowds came about, hovering in anticipation for the day's grand events, celebrating the fourteenth year of their beloved Princess.

Cordoned off so that the public would stay safely at the sidelines, the cobblestone square of Castle Town and the main road leading north toward it were dominated by the steady march of soldiers, the echo of synchronized boots rolling off every wall to the proud sound of a drum roll. Banners hung with a welcoming sway over the streets, high in the gentle breeze as the sun beamed a smile on all those below, glinting upon armour. Streamers were sent dancing and coiling overhead as a spectacular military tattoo showed all the strength and nobility of their stations; at the helm of it all, the people cheered for the Goldies as they led the rest—those brave and brilliant men who brought hope and honor to Hyrulian forces, the Royally appointed few that all men of the blade aspired to be.

Each rode a valiant steed, flanked by the squires as they dutifully sounded the drums, soon followed by the soldiers. Waves of silver, spears held high and proud, marched on behind them, as further back the ranks descended; disciplined formations, not a step out of place and outfitted to the nines as they came out on show to lift the spirits of all those in attendance. Behind them still, the town guards escorted the main attraction…

The warriors, invited by the King, to participate in this illustrious tourney.

Each one different, with all shapes and sizes, yet sharing remarkable talent and renown among the people. Some were behemoths, smiling cockily and giving brutish gestures, others skinny slips of men, grinning with silent charm and to the shock of many, even a woman was a part of the strange brigade, waving to the children as she passed them—all were trotted out to the delight of Castle Town as the names of the favorites rang true upon the wind's breath.

After all, one of them would earn themselves a title here today, and hopes were high that the air of doubt since Talleday's murder would finally be laid to rest, clearing the dark clouds and allowing the sun to shine upon brave new blood.

Finally, these combatants were led into the square, the many soldiers ahead taking up positions as they rounded the grand fountain. A line of gold turned to stand at attention, and all others dressed in silver attire came to form neat squares either side, framing the place where the participants would stand. As all stood upon the cobblestone, the sound of trumpets blazing filled the town above the people's roar, a regal sight sending shocks of fervor and morale to all those below; high above them on a wooden dais, held aloft from the world by fine sweeps of purple fabric with the royal crest emblazoned for all to see, was their King.

He himself sat upon the apex of a makeshift throne, crafted with care and luxury, to match his attire—brilliant reds, golden threads and velvet patterns whispered about a fur lined doublet, graced with all manner of fine jewelry befitting his station, not the least of which a crown coveted by many and the signet ring of Hyrule.

Zelda stood faithfully at his side with her attendant behind, and the council overlooking the balustrade beyond them with expectant and weathered faces, a chosen few of nobility dotted between. The Princess' calm crystalline gaze drifted over so many faces she didn't know, with distant interest, people watching with satin gloved hands clasped idle. She, like her father, was dressed in finery; silken embroidery swept across the modest neckline of a white dress, lace and material fanning out from her waist to cascade down in a fragile waterfall of glittering splendor, a large bow at the small of her back. Set at the junction of her collarbone, however, was the pendant gift she refused to take off, even against the advisory of those who thought a necklace matching the dazzling sapphire glint of her earrings would be better suited instead.

Though Zelda was a gorgeous sight to behold in such flattering and quality wear, her distaste for it hadn't been hidden that morning when she was dressed—A handmaiden had been reduced to tears among other things, such as scathing comments about the bow making her appear more like a wind up doll… but thankfully, none of that was evident now that she stood in view of the world, smiling softly.

Like always, the disguised Gerudo stood close by and wore the Shiekan garb, ever faithful to his act; he had quickly turned down any offers to be suited up more appropriately for the occasion. Clad in the skin tight outfit, he dwarfed even the largest of the tourney warriors, rippling musculature intimidating enough to cause nervous questions about whether he was to participate also. At the small of his back, in contrast to Zelda's bow, sat sheathed the dangerous smile of a small blade, crafted to Shiekah design. Unlike his ward, who hid her internal dislike of the affair rather well, scowling crimson eyes scanned those pitifully gathered with harsh scrutiny and an obvious superiority, tainted with boredom.

But, despite these minor setbacks to the jovial and ostentatious atmosphere, the day would not be spoilt by the moods of the few. Crowds burst with cries of glory and loyalty, as the even the distant sight of their sovereigns, and those of Royal acclaim, sent spirits soaring high, let alone when the parade assembled beneath was met with the standing attention of their King.

Raising his hands in a gesture of good will towards all, a well articulated and regal tone boomed clearly across the distance, reaching even the furthest ears.

"Citizens of this noble land, and indeed, this proud town," He started, drawing further cheers in agreement and flattery, "I welcome you all on this finest of days to join in the celebration of my daughter's birthday, and the acknowledgement of Hyrule's finest, assembled in her honor!"

At this, a fleeting and private look was exchanged between the Princess and her attendant, as if to suggest that Hyrule's finest did not live up to expectation.

Still, his Majesty continued with a broad smile. "Today, under the grace of our Goddesses; upon Din's lands, by the breath of Farore's winds and beneath Nayru's brilliant skies, we give welcome to these fine men, gifted all, to take up arms in contest for a place in my family's service and the opportunity to win the Princess' favor!"

He paused briefly, kind blue eyes turning toward the girl before returning to his address. "A fine young woman she becomes, growing more like her mother each passing day. A treasure to be protected, like this great land, and all those within her care! Which of you might stand to this call, to guard Hyrule and her people, serve her Princess and King, with the duty and honor required of the Royal Guard?" He challenged, as a cacophonous roar escaped the town, by countrymen, soldiers and warriors alike, to roll across the green fields as an answer.

Zelda's ears twitched as she flinched against the sound, gathering up her courage as she stepped to stand beside her father, delicate features set in the picture of youthful elegance. Holding her chin high as the din settled some, all eyes turning to her with devotion and expectancy, her father's hand rested upon her shoulder as she struggled to match his voice.

"My father has overseen the gathering of so many hopeful men on this day." She called out brazenly, speaking with a voice she barely recognized as her own. "I commend you all, in such deeds that have allowed you to be called forth to this, my tourney of Hyrule's champions. I bid you my blessings, wishing well to all those who would stand to serve this country and its peoples; though only one man may stand the victor today, it is my hope that you all continue to protect and fight for the freedoms, rights, and contentment of all those under the banner of the Goddesses' care… for you all are men of valor and strength, the Sons of Hyrule who carry her burdens upon their shoulders and the hopes of her people with them!"

No sooner had the words left her mouth, was Zelda met with a cheer of her own—the smiling faces of the crowds, anticipation and allegiance sparkling in their many eyes. It unnerved her, in a strange way, that such vast amounts of varied people placed such faith in something so trivial as her voice among them. The hardy Gorons, the swift Zora, the mixture and diversity of her own, the Hylians… all of them would bow before her, even as a child that had done nothing but shun her status. She was no different than them, really; she felt no better, no worse. Were they not simply people, as she was? Why was it that her title held her so far above them, far higher than this wooden platform could ever hope to?

But the response was undeniable—Not yet their leader, the young Princess was gifted with the same reverence as her father, if not more. Treasured and beloved, with her smile came the nation's; she was their heart, holding their hopes and fears. Not these men gathered before them all nor the soldiers or guards… Not even the favored 'Goldies', with all the encouraging tales accompanying them, could match that. A fact that worried her more than it should have.

A loud and enthusiastic laugh left the King's lips as he gestured wide, chains of gold rattling as his cape swung behind. "With my permission and my daughters blessing, I leave it to my subjects to decide who among you will become our champion! To the field, men, to let begin the preliminary rounds begin!"

With fanfare, the tourney fighters were to retrace their proud steps to the screams of newly acquired admirers. The King and his men followed soon behind, waving amongst the people from atop regal stallions; Zelda followed her father's lead, hollow as the Shiekah walked beside her horse, leading it along. Confetti fluttered in the breeze, getting caught in their hair and settling on their clothes, though none of the festivity would brighten the secretive pair. This tourney and all the fuss surrounding it, with several smaller celebrations to follow, stole from them both precious little time in which they could work toward their futures together.

Outside the southern gates, the field was littered with tents and servants, scurrying about as the final touches were set near the arena; a fifty square foot area made up of freshly packed soil, flat and ready for the footwork of the fighters, encircled by ropes. Wooden structures surrounded three sides, seeking to house the spectators, while an almost identical dais to the one in town stood ringside for Royal attendance. Several small crowds had already flocked, preparing food and stalls in order to make tidy profit from the day's affairs. People seemed to pour out of the town, gathering quickly as the excitement refused to settle—so long it seemed since the last tourney of caliber, many were out for blood, others, simply a boost in morale or good entertainment.

Within one tent, where the warriors made preparations—practicing katas, sharpening their weapons, readying their armour—a young man simply sat, watching them with sharp, hardened eyes. He remained silent, never uttering a word, even as the crowd favorite preened nearby; fixing his red hair in a mirror and boisterously gloating to the servants and other competitors. For a short while, the boy went largely unnoticed, but as the warriors congregated to size up the others and get acquainted, his presence began to draw strange looks and curious whispers.

Unlike the others, this young man—the youngest competitor it seemed, looking to be in his mid teens or so—was not outfitted with armour. His clothes were not impressive or striking, lacking anything that would allow him to stand out from a citizen crowd; a white cotton shirt, sleeveless with a low collar, his hands and wrists bound with cheap leather to match tattered boots and dark brown baggy pants, reddened with dust. His sword was old and worn, as was his shield, looking to belong to his family as an heirloom rather than something practical to use in combat. Around his waist was wrapped a large rag, hanging down around his thighs at the back, and serving as the only hint to his origins—upon it was stitched the blue markings of a ranching family.

And it was this tiny detail that drew attention from the others, puzzled as to what place a ranch hand might have amongst Hyrule's unsigned elite.

After some prompting by the others, the lone female sidled up to him, sitting down with a masculine slump to rest her elbows upon knee guards and send the boy a lazy smile.

"Hey, how're you doing? Have you heard who you'll be fighting in the prelims yet?" She drawled, dark eyes sweeping his profile with a cold look though her voice seemed friendly.

The boy sat still, as if he hadn't heard her at all. After a moment, his eyes shifted sideways to glance at her through blonde bangs, taking in her appearance briefly.

_Thick, grey woolen skivvy under a decorative metal corset; she's from the mountains, dressed for the snow. She'd be hardy, with a good tolerance for pain; probably has near to perfect vision from scouting in the blizzards…good upper body strength, though weaker legs, seeing how thin they are. Agile. Probably right handed, by the abrasion on her left sleeve—leather backing? Likely, she makes use of a rapier or a short sword and light shield combo. Light armour, if any more is used… not in the prelims, though. _

As this habitual assessment ran through his mind, it never occurred to him that he hadn't answered her.

The woman's cold demeanor grew hostile, as her chin jutted forward to aid her glare, two obsidian locks falling forward from her shoulders as she snapped at him. "Oi! I am talking to you, yeah! What, are you deaf?" She hissed, her brow, bereft of hair, furrowed toward him indignantly.

…_Quick to anger, too, _he thought, his assessment complete.

Just as she was drew another breath, ready to yell at him for being so rude, a quiet and calm voice cut her off.

"No. I don't know who I'm fighting… But if it's you, I won't be having any difficulty."

A look of surprise flashed across her face, but rather than growing more agitated, the strange woman simply smirked, poking the boy's arm. "Oh, so you do speak. Well, that's some pretty big talk for a little guy like you, yeah? How old are you anyway, kid? Aren't you a bit young for a tourney?"

Turning his head to look at her, he seemed to regain some semblance of normality, a light smile appearing on his handsome face. "…You'd be surprised by how many things I'm supposedly too young to do." He grinned then, a friendly warmth coming to his eyes.

A sly chuckle escaped her as she held out a braced arm, intent on a firm handshake. "Well, I'll warn you now, I won't go easy on you just because you're a kid. The name's Ashei."

After a moment's hesitation, his own leather bound hand rose to accept, a firm jerk satisfying the gesture. "Just the same as I wouldn't go easy on you for being a woman…" He teased, leaning back against the wall of the tent as he relaxed some. "…I'm Link."

Giving a curt nod, Ashei rolled her shoulders, peering across the tent and toward the vain, though sizable, red head. "Well, Little Link…" She sighed, shifting as she brought a water gourd to her lips. "Let's just hope you don't go up against him in the first round, yeah?"

Link, who had closed his eyes in his relaxed posture, arms resting behind his head, raised a brow without looking. "Who?"

"The idiot combing his hair, instead of warming up." She offered bluntly, taking a sip.

"Oh, him…" The boy mused, unimpressed. "If it's so obvious he's an idiot, why worry?" Slowly he cracked an eye open, catching a glance from the man in question. "Apparently, he's some big shot, but I never heard of him."

In truth, Link knew very well who the man was and what he was capable of, but decided it would be interesting to hear the same information from a more combat reliable source.

Ashei gave him a funny look, wrinkling her nose. "Me, I don't think I'd have much trouble tearing him a new one…" She scoffed, grimacing. "But for a fresh thing like you, he's not the ideal opponent. That's Badon Valenzuela."

Leaning in closer, the woman's volume lowered considerably. "He's a glory hound and a womanizer, but he's got a mean streak of luck. Bounty hunter, by trade… fancies himself a bit of a globetrotter, so there's a slew of tales to go with him."

"Oh, good, I do enjoy bedtime stories." Link grinned, giving her a sarcastic look.

Ashei rolled her eyes, poking him disapprovingly. "Don't get too overconfident. Out by the badlands past Lake Hylia, he managed to get himself lost after the bandits he was chasing down escaped. The idiot actually went after them without any supplies or back up… there's so many versions of the thing I've punched storytellers for opening their mouths at all."

A wily grin appeared on her thin lips then as she wrapped her arm around the boy, gesturing toward their subject. "But, whatever you hear, the fact remains. Somehow, the bastard took on the bloody desert, unprepared and alone. He went out on his horse, and he came back a week later, on foot, with a bag of gold and the head of the bandit leader, unscathed. Next thing, he's getting free mead at Telma's bar and regaling his 'brilliance' to anyone with ears." Giving his shoulder a light squeeze, she winked.

"So don't go underestimating him. He's either tougher than he looks, or as crooked as dinofos tail… And he's as sweet on the Princess as you can get without being thrown in the stocks, yeah? He's out to win this thing, and if he doesn't get what he's expecting… Just stay out of his way."

Though Link was trying to appear as green a fighter as he could to avoid complication, the twitch of his brow and the subtle curve to his mouth said otherwise. "…I'll remember that, thanks." He settled to staring off at the other competitors once again, when Ashei set the gourd beside him, patting it to suggest that he could have the rest.

As she stood, stretching, dark eyes shot down to him with a much more serious glint. "Before I get warmed up, there's just one more thing…" She started slowly, glancing around before continuing. "…It's just a rumour so far, but if you see 'The Wolf' in the listings… Well… Your dreams aside, kid, I wouldn't bother walking out to the ring. Badon's one thing, but even I'm twitchy about that guy appearing."

Lazy fingers rose to scratch at mussed blonde hair as Link silently took this in. With a sigh, he gave a nod, seemingly tired of talking. "…I'll see you after the preliminaries." Was all he offered, closing his eyes to block out the world again.

Taking the hint, Ashei left him be, though concluded to keep an eye on the poor lad. _Well, if he's been invited…I guess he couldn't be all that useless, but still, a rancher? Best I stay close._

From that point, the day began to pass by swiftly, many men setting their aspirations aside as they were met by a better blade. The crowds grew more and more feverous with each passing battle, though only the preliminary bouts. Each of the victors returned to the tents, holding swords high as the respect of their peers followed the roar of the citizens. Ashei was quick to win her place, though remained ringside with the intent of seeing Link's fight—Something about that boy intrigued her, and her curiosity and perhaps even some concern for his welfare, prompted her to stay put. Thankfully, the bounty hunter known as The Wolf was not listed, and many a sigh of relief resulted; very few of the competitors had seen the man, elusive as he seemed to be, though he almost matched Badon in terms of infamy.

Finally, among the last of the preliminary matches as the draw was down to two slots out of sixteen open, Link's name was called to be paired against a man known for his goal of becoming a high ranking soldier. He was a local to Castle Town, and his familiarity made him a quick favorite among spectators over the Hylian _farmer_, who combat-wise was unheard of. Quite a few of the vendors in the stalls seemed to recognize the boy, through trade history, but none of them expected to see him as a combatant.

But, besides Ashei, one person recognized Link's name immediately as a warrior, and while the majority expected an unimpressive fight—Tanziel, with his strict training regimes, was an unfair match for some inexperienced hillbilly—Crimson eyes lit up in silent rage, knowing full well who the winner would be.

From his seat beside the Princess, Ganondorf stared out across the arena, glaring toward the tent with an expectant intensity enough to set the coarse material ablaze. His jaw tensed repeatedly as his mind reeled—Not only had the boy reappeared, he did so with sword in hand. How was this even possible? He had all but condemned the boy to a life of toil or poverty, obscure without a need for combat! What kind of sick joke was this before him now?

But damn the chances, for at the time, to kill the boy as he would simply have liked to would've given his rouse away, with all its potential; risk and convenience in equal balance, making it impossible to choose.

_But then, _he thought, the Gerudo's mind calming as his initial panic subsided, _The boy doesn't know of my part in his uncle's death…_In fact, he and the boy were hardly connected at all, while he was as a Shiekah. _Let's just see how this pans out…There may be some use in him; he'll fight plenty enough for me to see how far he's come…It's not as if he's got that damned blade strapped to his back. _No, the boy wasn't the Hero yet—wasn't a real threat yet—and that was workable.

A stifled yawn drew his gaze to the side, watching as Zelda swirled a glass of wine, obviously bored. Icy pink lips were pulled into a small grimace, and her posture had slowly waned over time to allow a slight slouch. Glancing down, Ganondorf noted how far gone she really was—her heels had been kicked off already. Leaning an elbow casually upon the wooden rest, he leaned closer to her, raising a brow.

"…You'd best not let your father catch onto that." He rumbled softly, subtly gesturing down to the forsaken footwear.

Zelda turned her head quickly, blonde ringlets bouncing as she was pulled from a distant reverie. "Hmm? Oh…" She blinked, considering this for a moment, before shrugging. "I don't think his eyes will leave the arena. I should be safe for now, thank you." As the whisper was passed between them, her lost smile appeared.

"I almost can't believe that, after beating each other to a pulp, he expects them all to attend a party. I mean honestly, I hope they brought a change of clothes, Goddesses know the medics down there will be too busy watching the fights to be treating wounds effectively." She snickered quietly.

A devilish sort of smirk lined the Gerudo's lips at that. "Perhaps that's a good thing," He whispered, watching the upstart fighter, Tanziel, waltz out into the ring with fanfare, confident, "Blood loss and fatigue coupled with wine makes for a very subdued crowd. The less we have to deal with them, the better… I don't doubt at least half will only make brief appearances before retiring early."

A haughty giggle escaped as the rim of her glass hovered at her lips. "Yes, I suppose they aren't really the types to go out of their way to mingle; class and social standing doesn't hold the same siren's call among warriors, does it?" Rolling her shoulder, Zelda's glass lost a sizable portion of its contents to a single swig. It almost seemed as if she was trying to douse her boredom, so that she might continue to give false smiles to the world.

Finally, Link stepped out from the shadowed sidelines, met by the awkward cheer of an unsure crowd, their applause slowly dying to be replaced by curious chatter, and even the odd laugh.

The Princess was among the first to find humor in the match up. Her amusement was met by a smug look, however, when her father turned her a grin. Finishing his own chalice, he set it down upon a side table, leering at the girl with mischief in his eyes. "I wouldn't be so quick to laugh, Dearest." He chuckled.

"You are joking…" Zelda peered down for a second look. "I mean, certainly, he looks fit for his age, but he's positively skinny compared to his opponent. He's not even wearing armour! …Is he some sort of stockman?" She blinked, scrunching her nose at her father. "What on earth possessed you to invite him? That's cruel, inviting such a young boy to take part. This better not be his first fighting experience, father…" she trailed off, taking a chastising sort of tone in warning.

The King laughed, waving his hand dismissively—Oh, how his daughter could entertain him; _Such a loving heart_, he thought, charmed. "No, no, my dear, of course not! He's far more experienced than he'd first seem. As I have said, these are Hyrule's finest, every one of them." A gentle smile returned to him as his eyes turned down toward the battlefield once more.

"He may be young, but youth has fortunately taken his side." The King leaned forward, interlacing his fingers before him. "I sent his invitation specifically, and admittedly, I am quite impressed by his tenacity and potential. Despite a bad name upon his family, he's made incredibly commendable strides in making amends for his uncle's crimes. Not only is he quickly becoming one of the finest bounty hunters and vigilante swordsmen in the land, but the lad is humble and generous, as well."

Zelda's eyes widened some as shock swept her countenance, the memories coming back all too quickly. "…Excuse me? Do you mean to tell me that boy is of the rancher's who murdered…? He was the boy Talleday threatened for messing up a milk order, isn't he?" She spat, affronted. "Father! What were you thinking? The whole family has been virtually condemned by the public as traitors!"

With a sigh, the King raised a hand to silence her. "I am aware of that, Zelda, though I am certain from his actions that the family does not share their late patriarch's views. From what I've heard of the lad, he single handedly kept Lon Lon ranch from going under, after that unfortunate business with Talleday, using the money he makes from putting away criminals to support his family as they rebuild their business. He's a fine young man, and a talent to be watched."

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Zelda seethed, glancing at Sheik for some sort of support. "Father, honestly, I cannot believe how short sighted you can seem, sometimes!" She sighed, crystalline gaze settled tiredly upon her glass. "I don't doubt that he is likely a decent person, despite the bad blood left to him, but others may not be so understanding…" She stressed, issuing her hand forward in a cutting motion.

"What if he were to win, by some chance? Do you really expect the people to be so accepting; a high ranking position being handed out to the son of a man hung for murder and treason? Think of the uproar! You haven't even run this past the council yet, have you?"

As Ganondorf merely sat in silence, amused though taking all of this in for future use, a somewhat guilty look crossed the King's features as he regarded his daughter carefully.

"I am capable of making these decisions with a great deal of foresight, Zelda. I can understand your concern, but as it stands, Lon Lon ranch is an integral part of our local agricultural industry, and has been for generations. To allow such a linchpin to fold could prove far more devastating than any uproar to be had over the poor lad, should he win." He offered gently, seeking to console her mood—he had no desire to spoil her birthday.

Patting her hand gently, he continued, softening with the look of disapproval his daughter wore. "I know facing these matters can prove difficult in an emotional sense… Talleday was irreplaceable, and a dear friend to us in his service. None of these competitors could ever take his place, and that is not what this tourney is for." He reassured, before picking up strength in his tone.

"But, while the shock of his passing took a heavy toll upon us all, perhaps the heaviest burden lies with the family of the convicted; suffering unfairly for a crime they did not commit. I sent the invite to Link because he has earned his place here, and even by competing, the lad is helping to lift the dark clouds that have been hanging around since that day… it's time we put it behind us to move on, and this could be just the thing."

"…I understand that, Father, I do…" She sighed, gradually giving in. "I just don't look forward to this if it should blow up in the face of my birthday… And even if he is a personal favorite of yours, I shan't be talking to him tonight if I can help it. Forgive me, but I'm still not entirely comfortable with his connections." Her hand was withdrawn from his at that, defensive as a grimace hid her frustration as best as it could. _Not that you're listening to me._

"Yes, yes…" Waving his hand, he straightened, pulling out of Zelda's personal space and deciding not to press the matter of being a good host. A scurry from behind signaled a servant, refilling their glasses as the King took up his chalice to partake.

"Such a shame, really…Even with the good work he does, the boy is forced to work anonymously; goes by an animal moniker… The Wolf, if I'm not mistaken." He mused, blue eyes settling on their subject below as the match began. "Perhaps after this tourney, he can simply be known as he is, and regain the people's trust as he has mine… And soon, yours as well, I am sure."

He gave a soft smile, though it held a hint of finality to the matter. "Don't worry too much, Zelda… It's all in hand. Just enjoy the day."

Zelda begrudgingly settled to accept this, her rigid posture relaxing once more into the slump as she took to boredly swirling the wine glass again, not entirely fond of the fact that someone so close to Talleday's murder stood before them so easily. He was only innocent by the skin of his teeth, being that he was, by technicality, the cause of the Captain's death.

The crimson gaze of the disguised Gerudo beside her, however, retrained on the boy with intrigue—a promising idea had seeped its way forward from the most poisonous corner of his mind during their little interlude. He had already laid the groundwork for it, without realizing, as well. Judging by Zelda's still present distaste for anything related to the murder, and now seeing the King's old penchant for humility and good will flare up again in the most tempting of ways, Link would likely be the closest he could to the Royal family sans hero status in the next day or so. Such a sudden and torturously delicious opportunity would've been maddening to watch slip through his fingers—had he already slit the King's throat—and internally marveling at his own arsey luck throughout cruelty, Ganondorf found he already had at his disposal the perfect tools for carving away the thicket ahead.

_But for now, the old fool is right, _he thought passively, a feral glint in his eyes as they followed the boy below; _Let us simply enjoy the day._

Red dust rolled around Link's boots as the two opponents stood facing each other down—though the match had started officially, neither combatant had made a move. Tanziel finally overcame his shock at facing off with a rancher enough, a pitying sort of smile given, to approach the young man. A head taller than Link, the pale and thinly toned would-be soldier lifted a gloved hand to pat the boy's head, chuckling.

"Aw, little fella… This isn't the junior division! You sure you're on the cards?" A pointed nose twitched as Link didn't move an inch, simply standing there without so much as drawing his sword. Tanziel blinked, raising a brow. _He probably snuck in, friendly with the guards or something. _"What? Have you got stage fright? Teh… Well, I'll go easy on you… how about we just make a bit of a show for the crowd instead, eh?"

Within an instant, the boy's head fell away from underneath Tanziel's hand as his body moved with startling speed. No sooner did a confused grunt leave the older man's throat did Link's bound palm hit the dirt, pivoting the rest of his body to bring a leg sweeping low. A gasp lined all sides of the arena as the crowd favorite's footing was demolished, sending him to thump the soil on his backside, stunned as a cloud of dust rose up around him.

As a shocked silence hung in the air, all eyes on the ring, Tanziel was left to blink as he regained his bearings with Link standing as if nothing had happened at all, right in the stance he had previously. Slowly, the boy's cold expression broke as a grin began to show through; his hand slowly rising to grip the hilt of his sword. "A show, huh?"

The crowd burst with a sudden laughter, viciously turning on Tanziel as fingers were pointed and the match seemed set to become a comedy act. The fallen man shook his head roughly, shorts curls of black hair whipping with the motion as the dust left it, a bitter scowl staining his face. Angry brown eyes, betraying indignity and humiliation, were lifted to glower at the blonde haired boy.

"You cocky little brat!" He spat furiously, scurrying to his feet with a red cloud billowing out around them. A short sword was drawn form its scabbard to be pointed in Link's direction, teeth bared to reveal a crooked row, twisted and gnarled from years of knocks to the jaw. It seemed the man often trained without a helmet, suggesting he could fight without a sword, and likely didn't have a habit of protecting his face unless in melee combat. With Link armed as well, chances were Tanziel only expected a sword fight.

As the intelligent gleam to the boy's blue gaze shimmered, calculating and preparing, the would-be soldier simply barked his challenge like a common mutt. "Come on then! See if you can make a shot like that when I'm ready for it, eh!" Tanziel cocked his head to spit at the dirt boorishly. "We'll see whose bloody laughing when I put you down on more than your arse, boy!"

Pointed ears moved subtly, paying attention to the tone in his opponent's voice rather than the words leaving careless lips. The hand that was readied upon the sword's grip loosened and fell to the side as Link's grin faded to be replaced by a neutral line.

_Wait for sword strike from the left; dodge, then duck underneath to grab his arm— twist and disarm. Pivot, elbow strike to his jaw—dislocate and agitate old fracture. Right kick to the back of his knee. Right handed chop to the base of his neck; victory by knockout. Time…seven seconds._

"…Ladies first." He prompted calmly, knowing Tanziel would take the bait.

The events that took place then were very different from either side's perspective—to Tanziel, it consisted of a yell, outraged and released with the skill tempered swing of his sword. Strength coursed through his arm, fueling the strike that was expected to find its target without difficulty, to slash across the boy's chest and sending him recoiling back. Link would stumble and fall to the ground, to be pinned by his boot with the tip of his blade to the rancher's neck, victorious.

Then the crowd would cheer, and like his father and grandfather before him, Tanziel would take his place in a proud legacy of service to this fine land and its noble sovereignty. A bright and glorious career would see him finding a wife and raising boys of his own to follow in the family footsteps… This was the future that flashed before his eyes as his blade sliced through the air.

And it was this future that was shattered without mercy, in a quick succession of blows—without the aid of a sword—as Link's mind, easily and simply, assessed and acted upon the situation at hand.

The instant blue eyes had seen the ripple of tension in the would-be soldier's bicep, the boy had already won. Following his predictions flawlessly, Tanziel fell for the rise and swung, only to find that Link had already begun a maneuver to dodge. As a leather bound grip tightened around the man's wrist, suddenly the boy was out of range for the slash and on the other side of the arm. Within an instant, Link's other palm was firmly pressed to Tanziel's elbow, and as the man realized what had happened, two firm fingers had curled around his thumb to pry and manipulate. A sickening crack sounded as the sword fell away from limp fingers to clatter to the dirt, useless, the would-be soldier succumbing to the pain of an aikido grip.

The shock of discomfort and contortion emanating from the hand was all the distraction Link needed, as the grip was released to allow Tanziel only the briefest moment to wobble on his feet. Before even the thought of recovery had entered the man's mind, a sharp and firm strike to the side of his jaw sent him stumbling forward a few steps, ears ringing with dizzying intensity as Link pulled his elbow back. A disoriented mind did not even connect to the sensation of aching teeth and muscle before a vicious boot was embedded into the back of his knee, sending Tanziel to a crippled kneel as the blur of what was happening became too much to process.

All that remained then of the local man's aspirations were ripped from his grasp entirely, cut short by a forceful blow somewhere behind him as the ground seemed to rise up, eager to meet him, the world spinning into a silent black. He was out before his face met the ground.

Any comedy that was to be found previously was lost to the thick silence pervading the air, tense and disbelieving. Widened eyes simply stared on, mouths agape, as the ranch hand softened his stance to return to a comfortable and casual air. Link's gaze rose to sweep the spectators around, his face blank as they simply gawked.

…_Why are they all staring at me like that? It's not that unexpected, is it? _He thought, self consciously, _Do I really look that pathetic…?_

Suddenly uncomfortable, the boy shrugged unconsciously as his brows knitted together, his attention turning toward the mediator expectantly. The thin and elderly man seemed to snap out of his stupor under the sharp blue gaze, and with a noticeable twitch, fumbled to raise the small flag and signal that victory had been achieved.

Breaking the silence finally, the announcer shakily stepped forth, a bewildered grin on his pointy nosed face. "V-victory by knockout! Link advances! Next round… Turlin versus Amirello for the final placing!"

The shrill voice echoed lonely for a moment before the mystified hush shattered completely, replaced by a deafening roar that could be heard for miles around. Unlike the other competitors, the boy did not stay put to revel in applause, and had already begun a slow gait toward the sidelines after his win was confirmed.

Ashei quickly rushed to meet him, yelling above the noise to be heard, as congratulations—shocked as they might be—were in order. The female warrior was quick to drag Link away to a more suitable volume in which to question him thoroughly, and with his short debut over with, the following fighters would unfortunately be overshadowed; within seven seconds, the boy had already elevated himself to fame on par with Valenzuela—Which by opinion, seemed to be the only matching that now mattered at all.

Above, satin gloved hands gripped the wooden balustrade tightly, as the Princess had perched herself in a standing position to lean closer in awe. While her opinion on Link was certainly unchanged by this, and still she didn't look forward to the fallout if and when he won, she had to acknowledge his talent as a fighter now and agree with her father in terms of his potential. Despite the fact that she didn't wish to interact with the boy at the gala later, a greedy mirth shimmered in her crystalline eyes—A challenge. Oh, to be able to simply slink away, don her Shiekan garb and fight a worthy opponent to test how far she'd come… He hadn't even drawn his sword, and managed to end the battle mere moments; something that Zelda had not seen in anyone else besides her attendant and recently, herself.

Her disinterest in the tourney had mainly stemmed for the private fact that she now had the ability to beat most of the competitors easily. Perfect teeth grit themselves in frustration after seeing a possible match for her own skill.

_Invite only, _she recalled, tossing aside the impulse to join the tourney in disguise, _and the risk of being discovered would be too high… Father wouldn't allow me to slip away, either…Damn it all!_ A sudden shock of temper prompted her to throw herself back into her seat with a poof of her dress, a sour look on her face as she silently glared at her father from the side. The King was still joined in the rest of the audience's amazement, giving a standing ovation in a point of smug pride and satisfied expectation, and didn't see the foul look turned to him.

Resolute, Zelda slowly allowed her delicate features to unwind themselves from her bitter thoughts, calming. _Never mind for now…_ _I will have my scrap with him eventually…Sheik will help me arrange it, I'm sure; I know him too well to spar effectively now, anyway, it's the next logical step that I have an opponent at my level, fresh._

At least something useful had come out of this day. Her arms folded over her budding chest with a slight sulk, disappointed that she would not see him fight again for a while yet.With her fingers rapping pensively upon the creamy flesh of her arms, Zelda remembered her attendant and sent him a sly glance, gauging his reaction to the boy, curious.

Crimson eyes were already upon her when she looked—again, he'd beaten her to the punch. He probably hadn't even watched the fight, instead, watching her and gleaning her thoughts from unguarded movements. He was so clever in that way, and now that she thought about it, he probably knew Link would win the moment he caught sight of him. Her lips pulled into a furtive smile, tilting her head slightly and lifting a thinly arched brow in silent question. His eyes narrowed momentarily, before his usual smirk returned. Zelda's gloved hand was waved nonchalantly, brushing hair over her shoulder to cover the way she leant close, whispering.

"I don't quite trust that boy, despite what father says… There was something oddly suspicious about the whole affair with Talleday; too cautious for it not to have been premeditated and executed with precision. Keep him away from me tonight, should he win…" She breathed lightly, only audible above the crowds for the proximity she held, breath warm against the Shiekah's ear. "…But, else wise, I want to fight him at some point. Can you make that happen?"

_And the cherry on top, Zelda doesn't trust her own Hero, _he laughed within his mind.

Ganondorf flashed her a charming grin, something devious swimming behind his irises. "I intend to keep you to myself as much as possible tonight, as with every other night." He purred, before pretending to consider her request. "…As for you fighting him… We'll see, but should that occur, it would be best if he didn't recognize you. I will test him first, myself—he won't see a real fight in this pathetic excuse for a tourney. If I deem it safe for you, then you can exchange blows."

A saccharine smile shone brightly as a spark of genuine happiness lit up her face, before the Princess returned to an acceptable posture, taking up her glass once more as the King finally sat.

"What did I tell you, Zelda? A fine young man; best in show, if I say so myself!" He laughed, slapping his thigh enthusiastically as the high of excitement still held him.

"Yes, Father, he is talented…" She conceded with a composed nod, a sly curve to her mouth. "But, it's early in the piece, yet. Let's not get ahead of ourselves… That Valenzuela is a fine man too, and he was your first pick."

The King chuckled sheepishly, rubbing his chin with a lopsided smile. "Ah, yes… That's a good point, Dearest, well made…" After a moment of thought, His Majesty simply snapped his fingers, ready to watch the next bout. "I suppose it will be a close call."

And, indeed, that was the general consensus when asked to pick the winner—Link and Badon would face off, and both had an equal chance in the public's eyes. But sitting above, silent and patient, Ganondorf and Zelda amused themselves as best they could, only breaking from their whispers to watch Link, whenever he appeared. The boy didn't falter and as the day drew on, the crowds, King, and even Zelda only grew more impressed. Each man who rose to meet him simply fell to the wayside, no matter how hard they'd trained or what reputation they had.

But as Link gained fans, unbeknownst to him, he had also made a very potent enemy. The disguised Gerudo, feeling the odd tingle of anxiety run down his spine with each victory, knew his hand was being forced—A little more time, and his window of opportunity would close, even with the plan in mind. Something had to be done about this before the ranch had its bad name lifted, or Ganondorf would find himself trapped in a waiting game once again. The King was already accepting of the boy, and willing to allow him proximity to their family—to Zelda; this talk of redemption, and letting treason not be reflected on Link… That was hardly something he expected after dealing with the Kings of old. He could only pull this off without suspicion as long as that attitude didn't spread, and despite how perfectly his plan had come together earlier based on Link's familiarity, he now realized that also meant he needed to act immediately.

Sparing a glance toward Zelda, something in the back of his mind shuddered in pity; he would steal from her the chance to test her skills, and her father in one hit… He would pay a heavy price for that in reigning in her emotions and keeping her on course over the next month or so. Especially with him crowned regent thereafter. Perhaps he could sidetrack her with something—He'd already wasted manipulating and diffusing her with sweet nothings and such last night, it wouldn't hold the same effect again. She was at a good point now to bounce back from the King's demise, but her frustrations at losing out on a potential rival as well could tip the scales; how far she had come combat wise was very important to her.

But, the King of Evil still plagued her, as always… the only reason she took her fighting so seriously was because she'd since come up with the notion that she may battle him. This demonic business, he had to reflect upon it heavily, though he didn't wish to. The very thought that an external force drove his desires unsettled him and he had avoided it since Zelda had put the point to him, yet it seemed this could be the key to giving her confidence, without having tested her skills practically. If he could give her a piece of information about the King of Evil's connections to this Demon, her analytical side may take over, prompting her to focus on future tactics rather than dwell on Link or her Father.

And behind all of that, he himself was curious, if not embittered and made unsure of himself by the discovery. He need to face the possibilities, sort through them and work with them, and perhaps give himself another edge he didn't know he had possessed.

_So be it, _He decided, his gaze lingering upon the girl's golden curls possessively, _The King dies tonight._

**A/N: **

**Oh, god, I hate Christmas. It's so busy, I wish I could just be a kid again and wait for presents, without any of the hassle.**

**Anyway, working loads, so I probably won't get the next chapter up for another two weeks or so. I haven't had a habit of proof reading my chapters lately because of being busy, but this one is especially unedited, so I'm sorry if I made any mistakes. I wrote this in six installments since the last chapter, heh.**

**As some of you may or may not pick up, Badon Valenzuela is homage to Groose in SS, I hinted at it with combing his hair, and Groose's Japanese name is Bado. I love Groose. So bad… He was hilarious, so I worked a descendant in or some such.**

**Valenzuela as his last name—and this is really nerdy of me—but Valenzuela was the name of a knight in one of Akira Himekawa's manga adaptations of the games. Extra points if anyone can tell me which one.**

**And Ashei… I dunno what she's doing in there, really, but I love Ashei, and now that she's here, what the hell, more TP cameos. Her place was going to be filled by an OC for later plot, but I added in Ashei, and actually, she fits the bill pretty nicely.**

**Also, I made Link a bit of a fighting genius, because after thinking about it, I find it really hard to believe a kid could just pick up a sword and embark on all those adventures with near instant skill without being one, at least a bit, you know? …Perhaps I over rationalize Zelda games, but hey, whatever. It's working.**

**So yeah. Part two of this chapter as soon as I can! **


	12. Eyes of a Wolf

The sun threatened a quick descent, sped up by the enthusiasm of many as the Princess' Tourney of Champions drew on across the fleeting daylight. The crowds' voices were hoarse with cheering, and many a novelty—Flags for the children waved about with vigor, sketches of the bouts scratched out by skilled artists on the sidelines—had been traded for rupees easily.

Children blinked against the sleep tugging at their eyes early, worn out by the excitement of the day yet still overly hyped for the event, and parents chattered and watched the fights, each thinking themselves an expert after having witnessed so many. Quite a few had made tidy profit, be it by merchandising, cooking or sketching, and even the dishonest pockets were lined with successful bets or at least, a foolish punter's missed call.

Just a few minutes now, and the last rounds would be had; Ashei was currently fighting, causing an uproar of her own as the lone woman persistently continued to shock the chauvinistic few in the counsel and crowd. Even the Princess had found her a pleasant surprise, and secretly took some pride in seeing a woman fell all the men to come before her. A loud roar signaled the battles end, rolling across the grass fields as a boom, yet reached Link as only a whispering breeze.

Pointed ears twitched in some disapproval of the disturbance to his brief respite—He'd never been one for loud sounds or boisterousness, and this day had worn his tolerance thin. Sitting away from the arena and stands, far even from the competitors' tents, steely blue eyes focused upon the horizon, reflectively, swirling the small bottle of milk he held. The recognition of his skill had been somewhat awkward for him in the way it had come about, and now that he was in the public eye, screamed for and commended, the boy suddenly wished for his anonymity back. While most would clamor for fame, Link simply felt out of place with the world watching so keenly…

Judging and scoping, gaining a knowledge of him, his skills, his traits; Now his days would be filled with cheap expectations. Women fluttering lashes at him to snatch him like a trophy. Men past their glory seeking to 'take him under their wing' and transform him into some great knight to reclaim renown through his efforts.

Perhaps even some enemies, laying in wait with envious hearts or threatened careers, unknown and calculating while he was bared for all to see and exploit.

Gods forbid, in the King's service, he'd be rubbing shoulders with Hyrule's elite—Those pompous, shallow hounds of men, bickering for scraps of influence and baying at him with haggard faces and ridiculously frilled clothing. Nothing like the sturdy, hardworking people he'd grown up with—underappreciated, unknown and humble people who wore their hearts on their sleeves and made an honest living from the sweat of their brow and strength of their backs. Truth be told, he wasn't sure he would be able to keep up with nobility; an entire class of people as foreign to him as the moon.

Any way he turned it, his future seemed…. Wrong.

Link flinched then, as the glass of the bottle clinked at his teeth while he was distracted by his thoughts. He hated the feeling. He had a few peeves that got under his skin, and this had always been one of them—Especially since his baby teeth had been knocked out by an Ordonian goat. He sighed, lowing the half empty bottle to the grass beside him, and took in the view.

_Maybe I should just let Valenzuela win, _he thought with a hint of defeatism, distain for the notion of celebrity rising swiftly the closer the bout came. But his family needed the income, and he'd sworn to Malinna that he'd return with the occupational reward—If he didn't win, she would know that he'd thrown a fight as well, which would only add salt to the wounds.

Picking at the grass a moment, his shoulders slumped as he honestly wrestled whether or not to go back, the grimace crept over his lips and a light lean forward compelled him to move. Hoisting himself up, eyes turned to the sky, and a fleeting wish that some great bird could simply swoop down and carry him far away shimmered in them—start fresh in a new land and life, beyond the horizon and while he'd miss the things he treasured, he could cut a new path for his future. A simpler one… one that suited him; one by his choice.

_...But, things to do, people to please, wrongs to put right, _He thought, turning as he idly rubbed the back of his neck, leaving the milk bottle behind with slow, stalling steps. _As always._ This internal mantra kept his feet falling one in front of the other, a lonely walk back into an arena that would see his life changing drastically once again.

Though perhaps, not in the way he would ever expect, as an enemy did indeed lie in wait of his return, watching the ring be turned into a stage by the infamous Valenzuela.

Crimson eyes burned with an impatient scorn, the sneer creasing a line into the flesh beside his mouth. Ganondorf, too, had hit his limits for the day; Boredom, anxiety, plans forming that couldn't be acted upon until later—as increasingly seemed the norm—had pushed him to a point of silent fury. Large muscles twitched and coiled beneath the skin tight garb, a secret to nobody, his arms folded tightly over his chest.

Those nearby, who had earlier made themselves available to the fleeting interest of the royals, were at a distance now, not even brave enough to send a glance in their direction as the waves of agitated spite rolled off of not only the Shiekah, but his ward as well.

Zelda could easily be described as a mean drunk. After hours of shifting, her legs numb with lack of use, she sat slumped with lopsided skirts tussled about her lap as one leg rested raised and set to lean against the rail. A haughty pout had possessed her mouth, delicate brows furrowed as she apathetically watched the men below. She almost seemed to clock out of reality, staring at some inconceivably horrendous stain on the dirt floor of the Arena slathered there by the failures of many, only occasionally cocking her head and hissing scathing remarks, spitting poison into Ganondorf's ear about the fighters and anything else that crossed her mind.

However, both of their demeanors changed quickly with the return of Link, stepping out from the side of the tents with a wince given to the cheer from the stands. Attentive life leapt into their eyes, snarls and grimaces vanishing to be replaced by expectant and relieved looks. This is what they'd waited for, and soon this hellish ordeal would meet an end—A swift one, following the boy's penchant for knockouts.

"Sheik, look! There he is!" Zelda piped, her voice holding a slight drawl as the tang of liquor seemed to slow her tongue. Her fingers clumsily grabbed at the loose fabric around his shoulders, tugging to draw his attention as the other hand pointed downward to the ring with urgency.

The disguised Gerudo offered little than an affirming grunt, his eyes already trained upon the boy, willing him, for once, a quick and effortless victory as he gently brushed her hand aside.

_Finally, _he thought, ignoring his ward for the moment, _And here I thought I may be caught in limbo. Get this over with, boy, no more playing about._

But to his great chagrin, it seemed Badon had plans of showmanship.

Center stage, as it were, he had taken to entertaining the crowd by going through numerous katas, cycling through flashy moves and flexing any muscle possible for the women watching. Red hair, not unlike a Gerudo's, swept upward in an almost gravity defying pompadour—broad shouldered and standing at an impressive six feet or so, the barrel-chested brute looked able enough to pick Link up and simply toss him out of the ring entirely.

He wore a simplistic green tunic that covered a thin shirt of mail, similar to the Hero of Legend—an arrogant claim to similar status, most likely—and brown, loose fitting pants. Large feet filled out leather boots and dull, worn greaves, with matching gloves and bracers upon his forearms. Over his shoulders sat a gold shawl of sorts, just long enough to flow somewhat like a cape, but short enough to expel the chance of it becoming a disadvantage.

Dust rolled up in the breeze, scuffed by Link's boots as he came to a stop, watching the other competitor uneasily. Even with Badon's warm up, the audience attention was equally divided, and brushing his blonde bangs from his eyes, Link recalled what Ashei had said about the other. _Crooked as a Dinofos tail,_ he thought wryly, _I'll bet he is too. Cheap shots and distractions… Left handed as well, as I am. Interesting._

With a final wave to the crowd, Badon turned slowly to finally face the boy, having more or less ignored him for the entire tourney. Mint green eyes were flecked with a strange yellow shimmer, and statuesque features contorted in distaste.

"It's about time we met. These other losers were starting to get me bored…" Badon's grin was a smack-worthy one, and it made Link's neck itch. "And don't even get me started on that woman. She's a tough one, but hey, just goes to show you shouldn't send a girl in to do a man's job." He shrugged with a cocky chortle.

Link couldn't help the squint of his eyes at the remark, something in him absolutely offended by it, though he wasn't sure why. _Great, he's trying to get on my nerves…Probably thinks I'll fight sloppy if I get angry._

Still, had Malinna heard Valenzuela— and seen Link not deck him for it—they both would've copped a hit, and it made the boy's gut twist with the want to knock a tooth out if only for her. Let alone the fact the Ashei was no pushover in the ring, and among the most honorable fighters here; _Yeah, cheap shots, alright…and we haven't even started. Better watch my groin through this fight, just in case._

"Friend of yours is she?" The other continued with a haughty step forward, sparing a glance at the medical tent. "Think I wouldn't notice your parlay, before the preliminaries? Clever, sending in a pupil of yours to cause distraction—a woman fighting, that's definitely a new one." He laughed.

Blonde brows furrowed with some confusion, Link's head tilting slightly with an incredulous look to it. What was he talking about?

"…I think you're mistaken." The boy offered, bemused as he perused the medical tent as well, gathering that Valenzuela had injured her in specific point to her apparent connection with him—a fact that only served to make his fingers twitch and his neck itch further.

"Oh, am I?" The man shot back with some spite, a look of condescension taking him as his posture shifted. "And I suppose you'll next be telling me you've never met her before any of this? Feh, you're a terrible liar, I can see it in your dopey eyes…"

He waved his hand dismissively, green eyes narrowing. "I'm not here to play your game. I've seen through the tricks and I'm going to take you down… Wolf."

Link's eyes shot wide as the din around hushed—even the word, uttered casually, had caught burning ears all around, spreading like wildfire through the crowd. His gaze flitted through the stands; gasps, whispers, pointing fingers… shock and excitement. He'd been ousted, and there was nothing to be done now; even should he deny it, it would still be the belief of the masses.

Cursing some under his breath, once calm features now turned to face Badon with a frustrated glare. If his intention had been to unnerve the boy, he'd certainly succeeded.

"D-damn it all, keep it down!" Link hissed, the leather around his wrists giving a squeak of protest as his hands pulled taut into fists. "I'm here to fight, not to talk. Shut up and get ready."

Badon simply threw his head back with a mocking laugh, pompadour bouncing atop his crown as he held his arms wide, turning his back to Link and facing the crowd.

"The Wolf says he's here to fight! A shame I'll send him howling to the moon!" He cackled, drawing agreeable laughter from the riled audience. "His pack member is down, now it's time for the leader! Isn't that right folks? Wolves should stick to hunting at night, lest they come across the Hunter, Valenzuela, and I'm in the mood for a pelt!"

Gritting his teeth, Link's steely gaze shot toward the overseer, the look in them demanding the battle begin immediately. With a shudder, the stout man raised a flag, as the shrill cry of a whistle sounded, marking the bout's start.

With the sound, a massive burst of red dust was left in the place he had been standing as Link tore through the air, a boot hitting the dirt with a harsh imprint as he propelled himself forward into a kick. As he hurtled toward Valenzuela's still turned back, leg outstretched to connect squarely between the shoulders, Link realized his mistake—Badon had coaxed him into the first attack.

_Shit! I should've known—_He thought, cringing internally as the other man's shoulder twitched and his boot turned ever so slightly. The boy already knew what would happen next.

Turning swiftly, a well built arm came around to catch the leg, a sidestep moving Badon out of the kicks path and earning him an iron grip of Link's ankle. Using the momentum against him, the arm followed around as the boy passed, throwing him with a sharp yank at the last second to add some spin. Wind stung his eyes as Link hurtled forward, his face seemingly set to connect with the ground—but he had made his mistake, and no more would be lost.

Using the tilt, his hands shot out to plant firmly to the ground, a snap of his back turning an otherwise ungraceful landing into a twisting flip as he found his feet once more. The crowd went wild as the tension built up during the tourney finally found some release, though the noise seemed miles away to Link's pointed ears—he struggled not to bear his teeth to the other, settling into a back stance as the dust settled between them.

Badon turned to face him fully with a lazy, arrogant movement; that self assured look of victory pulling into a cool half smile. "Always landing on your feet… More like a pussycat than anything." He baited.

But the boy wouldn't have it, giving an incline of his head and a squint—Badon would make the next move, or there wouldn't be one, not after that appalling start. The faintest twinge of red flushed Link's cheeks for it.

With a shrug, the other man simply grinned. "No matter… More than one way to skin a cat, too."

His hand, which had previously rested idle at his side, was suddenly jolted and from beneath the bracer appeared a silvery thin blade. No sooner did the 'shink' of its release reach Link's ears did he find himself in the path of a steady charge. Valenzuela's boots hit the dirt repeatedly like a drum with heavy thuds, hinting at an impressive weight as Badon's blade was drawn back behind him ready to strike. His shoulder was bared to hit him as well, and the boy could quickly guess that if one missed, the other wouldn't.

With a sharp yell, Badon entered close quarters, and Link prepared his defensive accordingly. His feet worked quickly, sidestepping the heavy man as a hand shot out to grab the wrist that wielded the spike of steel—The cold touch of the bracer signaled that the snatch was successful, and now out of the way of the shoulder and to the side, Link's free hand swung to take hold of the back of Badon's sturdy neck.

What wasn't counted on was the other blade. Pain shot up the boy's leg to stain his face with a wince, a backwards shunt of Badon's foot plunging another—much more subtle—spike into the side of Link's calf.

Whist he had been charging, a tiny blade had been sprung from the heel of Valenzuela's boot. The shock of it had caused the boy to release the other competitor, a reflexive jolt stunning him momentarily.

_Cheap tricks… and distractions…_ Link cringed mentally, chastising himself for not paying more attention. What was wrong with him? Surely a few comments hadn't gotten under his skin; he'd never held a reaction to them before, able to keep his head level. Why, of all times, was he developing a weakness for it now?

Blood seeped through the fabric of his pants, discoloring it a sickly dark red as with a slight squelch, the heel spike was removed to let the boy stumble back a step while Badon simply walked a few paces away and turned with a smug look. With a casual upward sweep of his hand through his red hair, an obsessive and peacock like habit, he scoffed.

"Two for two." He called, rolling his shoulder. "But enough of a warm up. Let's go."

Link glared up at him from behind his bangs, his head still hung some from discomfort—his leg pulsed with a stinging burn, aching whenever the muscle tensed.

_Damn it,_ he thought, _He knows I'm faster than him, so before fatigue sets in, he's taken care of it…Now he outmatches me in melee by his strength; no technique I have will match him for power and size…_

The boy gave a heavy sigh, straightening and calming himself. _I've got no choice._

"Alright, then. I'll bite." Link answered coolly, schooling his features and shaking out his hands. For a moment, the two men stared each other down, steeled blue blazing against mint green, daring the other to make their move. "…Much better than barking, by any shot." He added for good measure.

"What's the matter with him? Why hasn't he won this yet?" Zelda hissed, crystalline gaze glaring down at the warriors below. Her wine glass was lifted to her lips, to be drained of the last of its contents, though a large hand promptly and gracefully snatched it away from her, setting it down out of reach.

"No more, Zelda. You've had quite enough, if you need to ask that question." The disguised Gerudo chastised; a patient tone to his voice, though strained.

His fingers came to rub at his temple as his ward sent a frown of indignity and frustration his way, though he didn't bother to look—he knew it well enough. Ordinarily he knew better than to take wine off the girl, but he was likely to hit her if she continued to drown her boredom with liquor, given the effect on her personality after a few hours. Still, the Princess waited for explanation quietly, settling some the longer he made her wait.

"He hasn't won, Zelda, because he's not drawn his sword. He also seems to be distracted by something… But it won't be long now." He explained in a hushed tone, eyeing the boy from afar as his hand was held to the side of his face. "When he takes up his blade, the tide will quickly turn. Mark me, he may not know it, but he is far more skilled with a sword than even he thinks."

Zelda stared at the Shiekah, considering this carefully even in her hazed state of mind. After a moment, she flicked a lock of hair over her shoulder, tilting her chin and returning her gaze to the arena below. With something of a huff, she reached behind her, tugging the bow at the small of her back in a crude attempt to readjust it.

"…I could've had that brute beaten by now…" She mused to herself, her head wobbling some in a haughty manner, as if autonomously agreeing with herself. "He likes his women fast, and his opponents slow. I'd be his worst nightmare." She smirked—The Princess hadn't missed the way Badon looked up at her with every victory, like a child seeking the approval of its negligent mother.

"…Not in this state you wouldn't." Ganondorf muttered, taking to drinking the rest of her commandeered wine.

"What was that?" She snapped, peering at him intently.

"Nothing." He said quickly, gesturing the glass downward. "Now hush. Round two is starting."

This innate knowledge of Link was well founded, and while Ganondorf could predict the course of the battle, both Badon and the boy himself had no clue as to how this would end.

Fingers twitched once at his sides, shifting his weight off of the injured leg as his gaze narrowed, eyes sharp and focused—the drawn fabric about his waist, bearing the rancher's pattern, was tightened by steady hands. Link closed his eyes then for a moment, letting himself be clear—his mind stilled, like calm water, reflecting all else.

Badon watched him curiously, a tapered brow arching in response, though quickly lost his patience. Mystic channeling, mid-fight meditations, whatever it was, the infamous Valenzuela wasn't impressed or deterred and if the other's eyes were closed, then aesthetics aside, he'd take advantage of that.

With a grin he took towards the boy, in a similar fashion as before—he'd be weary of the heel-blade now, and take to slash at his chest as well in a feint. When Link would dodge or jump, he'd be set to knock him off balance and make a clean stab to the shoulder.

Link remained in position, never opening his eyes though his ears twitched responsively to the sound of fast steps. Everything about his form became still; muscles relaxed, heartbeat slowed, and breathing taken in long, steady paces. Badon closed in quickly, throwing himself forward to place his weight on a forward slide, seeking to take out the boy's injured leg. But as his bracer-blade came down to strike, Link defied his prediction.

The attack upon him was like a shockwave to send ripples through the still water, activating a chain of events that should leave his opponent sprawled. Steely eyes snapped open, and rather than lean back to dodge or jump to avoid the kick, he ducked. A sharp grunt of surprise was uttered as Valenzuela misjudged the movement, the blade slashing uselessly over the rancher's shoulder, but he was sure to make the boot connect. Blood splattered across the dirt from the wound as it was brutalized by the blunt force, but with little more than a wince, Link allowed himself to fall—his footing kicked out, he took to a vantage that would ensure the blow came at a cost, his arm lashing outward toward the other.

The crowd gave a pause of suspense, waiting to see the outcome of this scuffle as both men on field seemed to freeze in a tableau of violence. Badon was bent slightly over the boy, his eyes wide and his movements cut short by some shock; beneath him, driven to one knee, Link knelt with a sharp elbow lodged soundly into the larger man's abdominals.

Wind stolen from him, the bounty hunter struggled to take a breath, spit flying from his mouth as he managed a wheezing cough. Link was quick to move now, stepping up with his good leg as his other arm wrapped around Valenzuela's thigh—with a cry of exertion, the boy stood quickly, hefting the other with the movement and sending him, top heavy and stunned, to topple backward.

Leaving the ground for only a moment, Badon's back met the dirt with a jarring impact, aggravating his condition and expelling any breath he'd struggled to find. People in the stands cheered with a ravenous noise, standing here and there to pound at the air with fists or wave flags patriotically, their excitement hitting overtime. It only doubled when Link, standing over the fallen bounty hunter with a now lopsided stance, lifted a hand to the hilt of his sword; face cold and expressionless.

The sweet hiss of steel sliding free of its sheath caused something to flash within his eyes, and Badon caught it, even as he shakily shifted to prop himself on an elbow. Rolling over, he got to his feet, swaying some but standing to face the rancher once again—the sneer on his face suggested he held a scathing remark on his tongue, but it was stifled behind the spluttered cough that spilled a thin line of blood from the corner of his lips. After a moment he cleared his throat and found a steady enough airflow, turning his head to spit as a green glare burned toward the other.

"You could've stayed down." Link lifted his sword up for inspection, studying it for a moment. "…But then, you did make a shot for my Achilles tendon with that sneaky heel tip. So… I'm not going to feel guilty about this." His eyes snapped past the steel then to lock onto Valenzuela's with an icy conviction.

Badon barely had time to draw his arm back before Link stepped forward, a downward slash tearing through the simple tunic he wore to reveal chain mail beneath. The gold shawl was cut loose, sent fluttering behind in the breeze. Pivoting, the red head dropped quickly to bring the wrist blade around in a swipe to the legs, though Link narrowly avoided it with a jump. The boy flew over the other's head, bringing the hilt of his sword down hard—a cracking blow to split helms, the bounty hunter was knocked forward as his hands caught the dirt to save his face.

Link struggled behind him to land, stumbling awkwardly as he focused on his good leg to hold himself upright, hopping some. With an enraged growl, Badon looked over his shoulder to glance and locate him, kicking out a leg to catch Link's knee as he tried to gain footing. A pained cry escaped the rancher as the boot connected, his legs having taken a heavy beating already, and swiftly found himself headed to the ground again. As Link fell, though, a careless swing was made toward Badon as he attempted to stand, causing him, too, to go careening back to the ground as he barely dodged it, throwing himself to the side.

A gasp resounded as the two fighters lay sprawled in the dirt however, as the crowd seemed to notice before they themselves did—drifting down in the air between the two was a flurry of red hair.

Link's eyes grew wide as he sat up, watching the strands settle on the floor of the arena. Slowly, his gaze drifted upward, a strangled noise escaping as he saw the extent of the damage. The proud and treasured pompadour that Badon obsessively groomed was now a scraggly, tattered mess that fell limply over his brow in different lengths, rivulets of blood running down his forehead.

"Uh…." Was all he could manage as he simply stared, realizing with some horror he'd probably just made his first nemesis—and quite possibly triggered a fit of rage that could win him the bout, or lose him much more.

The bounty hunter groggily sat up, unawares of the damage as he shook his head, coughing and giving a snort to rid his nose of the dust. His hand rose to rub his face, smearing blood and wiping it away, green eyes peering at Link with confusion—why was he staring at him like that? But then, so was everyone else… and the audience, who'd been quiet in anticipation, suddenly erupted with laughter.

Glancing around, Badon screwed up his nose, the hand wandering to run fingers through his hair and fix it out of habit. That was when he noticed. The hand patted around his crown disbelievingly, matting the tufts of hair with blood and sweat and making it look even worse.

Link simply watched as the colour drained from the other man's face, those green eyes losing focus to stare off blankly, hollow with loss. Brushing his own blonde bangs from his brow—almost in a strange, sudden appreciation for them—the boy moved to stand, wobbling some with the limp. He frowned, shaking his head some.

"That's what you get for fighting dirty, Badon." He sighed, a streak of pity for his opponent canceling out what he'd said before about not feeling guilty. But hair, unlike pride, easily grew back.

"I'm done here. You're bleeding, likely concussed, and… shaven… So just stay down." Link lowered his sword tiredly, turning around to limp a few paces and retrieve Badon's shawl from the ground. He held it out, dusting it off with every intention of handing it over and calling this a match.

Until the primal scream of fury pierced his ears.

Blinking with surprise, Link turned just in time to see Badon launch himself from the dirt, wrist-blade held high. The boy tensed, realizing the posture—He was going for a kill shot, either the neck or the upper torso; obviously, the tourney didn't mean much in lieu of his lost pompadour.

A jolt of adrenaline shot through him, spurring him to move as instinct took over. At the back of his mind, something familiar came flooding back, like a lost memory coursing through his muscles. As Badon's blade was thrusted downward toward Link's throat, green eyes shining with malice, his feet moved to jump toward the other man in turn, bringing his sword to clash against the steel and bracer. A struggle ensued, the bounty hunter's height and weight giving him a clear advantage, especially given Link's injury. He was losing fast, both blades being forced toward his neck in dangerous combination.

Suddenly, like an ember sparking into a flame, Link felt a tug within himself, amplified by the strange sense of déjà vu—his energy was returning, his endurance was peaking, and his strength… increasing with every heartbeat. He'd never felt it before and yet somehow, it felt so familiar. In desperation, he seized it, drawing on it and letting this sensation, whatever it was, fuel him.

With a rebellious yell, Link gave a forceful shunt in a self defying move, knocking Valenzuela back enough for the boy to bring his leg up and plant a boot squarely to his stomach. Badon toppled back, loosing his footing once more—Link was correct, he was concussed, and the shock to his equilibrium hadn't helped him maintain stance. Despite his injury, the boy bent his knees to spring into a high leap, sword drawn above his head as something of a war cry tore from his throat.

The crowds on the edge of their seats, the arena was met with a moment of almost complete silence as all eyes watched on, nobody knowing whether or not they were about to witness an execution—Link had leapt into a fatal blow, obvious to even those without combat training.

Steely eyes locked onto Valenzuela's red hair, though it wasn't his face—Flashing across his mind for only an instant, Link saw another man beneath. Dark skin, black armor, and piercing, golden eyes. _What in din's Name…!_ Just as fast as it had come it was gone, replaced by a look of fear and desperation on Badon's statuesque features, green eyes frantic with sudden regret.

Reigning himself in, Link pulled upward with a second to spare; the instant his boots touched the ground in fact, to move the path of his blade from the man's heart, to just beside his head. With an almighty stab, the steel sunk into the red dirt arena with an otherwise shocking lethality. Shaken, Link released the hilt immediately, stumbling back and away as if it had burnt him; the blue of his eyes bright with shock and apprehension.

…_I could've killed him… I almost killed him…I wanted to kill him…_

His breath came in heavy panting, chest rising feverously as he stared at his opponent—The crowd had burst into a wild applause, and the whistle sounded, the overseer's flag waving to Link's corner. He'd won. The boy shook his head, running his hand through his hair. In the past few years, he'd hardened himself to battle, and iced his heart to the pleas of the people he went after. But even beating them down and capturing many men to claim the bounties, Link had never killed a man; never truly wanted to. Even his most hateful thoughts turned toward whoever framed his uncle never stemmed seriously into bloodlust.

But for a fleeting moment, a streak of it ran through him for Badon. _No, not him… Someone else… Who was that? Why…?_

His mind ran wild, even as the pulse of energy subsided; he got to his feet quickly, and as was his style, left the arena promptly. Nobody questioned it, and the masses were far too taken with the fight and the realization of the Wolf's identity to notice anything amiss. Though as he passed quickly by the tents and out toward the field, Link's hands shook nervously—something that hadn't happened for years, not since the first months after his uncle had died. What he'd seen had struck a nerve within him, unsettled a comfort zone he'd spent years building… so much so, that he never even registered that he'd left his sword behind.

Meanwhile, medics went out to retrieve Badon, who had gone into a nasty state of shock, and his sword was also retrieved. Link had vanished, and the officials decided that his weapon would be safely stowed in the castle armory, to be returned to him later at the gala.

From up above, Ganondorf watched the clean up unfold with mild amusement, a satisfied smirk on his lips. He knew that move, in fact, he knew a few of them—_So, I was correct, _he thought, _The boy is learning through muscle memory. _There was no doubt now. This boy was slated to be the Hero, and the first shimmer of it had shown here today—the Gerudo hadn't missed the pull of his aura, a sanguine and silent call to Power as Courage flared to make its presence known. Chancing a glance toward the Princess, he could easily tell she had felt it as well, and Ganondorf himself had felt Wisdom flutter to its companion pieces.

They were drawing so close now. The cycle hadn't begun, but even so, proximity caused the stirrings of it, the ancient relic pulsing with acknowledgement within them. Ganondorf knew that come Zelda's sixteenth year, the inevitable succession of fate would send the boy against his trials, willing or not. But with Wisdom so devoted to him, and Power set to return, Courage would find itself outmatched and be surrendered—the only catch was allowing the boy to live, lest he sacrifice his chance to collect all three until Link's rebirth. But as Hyrule's King by the time this eventuated, Ganondorf would be in a prime position to simply have the boy delivered to him and locked away in the crypts below the castle to prevent any… problematic weapons being found.

_Even if by some miracle he managed to find the damned blade, he'd be hard pressed to do much of anything without Zelda's help,_ He thought to himself with a sly smirk, _Suffice to say, it's far more likely__** he'd**__ be pelted by her arrows this time._

Golden tresses were pulled back into a loose ponytail as the Princess held a ribbon in her mouth, fidgeting with it. A sigh escaped her, her gaze wandering over her Father, who had—after a boisterous applause and some gloating about how well all this had played out on his call, despite Zelda's worries—made his way down to the Arena tents in order to grace the fallen with his presence.

_Can't have them feel out of favor for a defeat before our eyes, dearest, _He'd said to her, giving a pat to her head. She rolled her eyes at the thought—The only one here who mattered was Link, and he'd run off already. Her want to fight him had only increased after the last bout; there was something unique about him, as if he possessed another person within himself entirely, and she could relate very well to that.

As she pulled the ribbon tight in her hair, Zelda turned her head toward the Shiekah, a question in her eyes. As always, he'd beaten her to it, crimson eyes upon her already. She smiled lightly, a good mood seemingly returning with the tourney's end—well, technically, the announcement of Link's victory should've had more fanfare, but given his penchant for leaving without receiving accolades, it was cut short to simply consist of trumpets and the overseer officially pronouncing Link the champion. The people didn't seem to mind, given enough of a show to last at least until the harvest festivals in a few months, and happily cheered for the absent victor anyway.

"Well, thank the heavens that's over with…" She started with amusement, standing and tugging on her clothes, straightening them. "Now we just have the gala to get through tonight, and we'll be back to old habits by tomorrow."

The disguised Gerudo gave a chuckle, leaning forward on his elbows some. "Don't remind me… Though, now that you mention it, I have a good mind to enchant your lyre for this evening." His brow lifted some as he shifted, lazily coming to stand with a stretch. "…No offense, Zelda, but your musical talents still leave a lot to be desired."

Zelda stared at him with an affronted look, her shoulders rising defensively. "I think they're progressing quite well, given the fact that my lessons are a cover for combat training." She hissed, the wine tainting her voice with some spite, though she immediately settled when she caught the warning flash in his eyes—his patience was drawn thin enough as it was.

With her fingers idly fidgeting, she attempted to cover it by adjusting her gloves. "But that aside, I suppose you're right… Father will expect a virtuoso performance, and it may raise his curiosity should he not receive one…" She conceded with a sour frown.

A large hand was offered then, and Zelda took it gently, secretly despising the glove on hers and the bandage wrap of his that prevent their skin from touching. Ganondorf gave her a curt nod, leading her slowly to walk beside.

"My thoughts exactly… Just be happy enough that you don't have to concentrate on actually playing, and I'll do what I can to keep the riff raff at bay." He snickered, smirking to himself.

Though the Princess and her guardian departed quietly, the king took a while longer to revel in his hobby of indulging the fighters and sharing stories among them of hunting and epic battles past. Many of them left within the hour, not wanting to be tardy for the celebrations later and taking ample time to recuperate and redress. When His Majesty did take his leave of them, so too did the crowds, following their sovereign in a subdued shadow of the earlier parade as the merchants packed up their stalls and servants took to dismantling the stands.

The only ones to remain were the medics and a few local business owners who had generously offered to help as volunteers, tending to those too wounded to move on. Among those few were Ashei, who sat struggling against a short and wiry old doctor with large, thick glasses. They made him look a bit like a gnat in a white coat, and his curved posture and arthritis didn't help him to stifle her attempts to stand.

"Get off me, Old Man, I told you, I'm fine, yeah? I need to go find the kid!" She drawled, her fingers hurriedly picking at the bloodied bandages around her midsection.

The doctor gave a huff, smacking at her hands with a frustrated jeer. "Will you settle! I told you, you idiotic girl, that you'll tear your stitches! I won't sew you back together if they rip by your own stupidity!" He grumbled, peering up at her with magnified eyes.

Ashei growled down at him, baring her teeth and roughly shoved the wiry man away. He knocked into a wheeled table carrying medical supplies, almost loosing his footing as he caught onto to it to stabilize himself; a glass of sticky green liquid falling to shatter.

"Gah! Now look what you've done!" He cried, waving his arm at her in an accusatory fashion. "So be it, you want to bleed to death, be my guest! …Damn fighters, more brawn than brains… attention span of a squirrel…" He took to muttering, holding his hands behind his back and turning to shuffle away.

The woman snorted derisively, her body straining as she stood, ignoring the cry of protest from her muscles. Gritting her teeth, she took a moment to steel herself, slowly coming to full height and forcing her posture. _It's… just a flesh wound… I can take it… I'm not some… weakling…_ She willed herself to move, struggling as she deliberately tried to hide the toll upon her body, and took a few steps.

Each step sent a searing ache through her torso, and her set features suddenly contorted into a wince as something seemed to snap about her stomach—she'd been hurt far worse than she realized, it seemed, and already had over extended herself. Her legs buckled, and to her chagrin a lady-like whimper escaped her lips, though before the ground threatened to open stitches by the impact, she was caught by sturdy arms.

"Whoa, there, Hon… Don't be so hasty, now." A woman's voice soothed.

Looking up as she settled into a comfortable kneel, taking pressure off of her bent torso, Ashei caught the sight of a friendly face—Auburn dreadlocks pulled back into a high ponytail and a beauty spot on the cheek, the high arched brows and warm smile were instantly recognizable.

"Telma," She breathed, somewhat relieved. "Shit, am I glad to see you… I need a drink about now." She chuckled, voice rasped from discomfort as she shifted, grimacing.

The portly bartender shook her head lightly, giving a wry look to the younger woman as she slowly helped her to stand, placing Ashei's arm about her shoulders. "You're as stubborn as your father was…" She teased. "I don't blame you, after dealing with that old coot Burville… But, bedside manner be damned, he knows what he's talking about… I'll help you back to the bar, but then you're going to sit down and rest, you hear?"

Ashei flinched some as they set a slow pace, hairless brows furrowed with a defeated sigh. "Look, a pint and I'll be right as rain… I'll rest for a bit, but I've got to get up the castle, yeah?" Catching a raised brow, she elaborated. "I have to catch up with Link. I dunno what happened out there, thanks to that damn Badon… Hidden blades, that's low even for him…" She sneered. "But I know that kid won. I keep hearing about the Wolf showing up, but that aside, I think Link might be in over his head with the big boys, now that he's the champ and all."

Pushing the flap of the tent's entrance aside to step out into the cool night air, Telma flashed Ashei a knowing wink. "Oh, the Wolf appeared alright—stopped Valenzeula in his tracks." She chuckled, the beads in her hair rattling. "I wouldn't worry about our new Champion."

The woman blinked, rearing back a little to stare at the bartender. "What? He showed?" She spluttered, disbelievingly. "What about the kid? Is he alright? …That bastard didn't try anything after the match did he?"

Telma laughed, shaking her head. "No, no, Honey…" She smiled at the warrior, patting her shoulder reassuringly. "Link _is_ the Wolf. And he sure as hell knocked that Badon down a notch… I think he did it for you." A suggestive tilt of her head sent a sideward glance, filled with mischief. "The brute was taunting him before the match, you know… Our little rancher seemed a bit annoyed to learn about his match with you."

Ashei grew silent as they walked with a slow and, on her part, slightly hobbled gait. Dark eyes turned upward to the night sky, a spattering of stars completed by a full moon—How fitting, a full moon for the unmasking of the Wolf. Even as Telma prattled on, hinting about how well suited they were, and how wonderful it was that Ashei might yet have found a husband, along with other miscellany, the warrior's mind ticked.

Link was the Wolf. The tiny, lithe boy from a ranch, with handsome boyish features and a friendly sort of smile, was in fact one of the most brutally effective and feared bounty hunters and vigilante fighters in the land. It was a shock, yes, but this revelation clawed at her for other reasons.

A few years back, in the square of town, Ashei had traveled with her father to have her rapier made—a birthday gift, and exquisitely made. While there, in the few days away from the mountains, she was witness to many new things, not the least of which was the local enthusiasm for public execution. A rancher, accused of treason and murder, was hung there, and the woman remembered with distaste that his children had been present.

A red haired girl, pretty for her age, and a young boy… A blonde boy, with the same blue eyes. But no, they were different from the screaming child she'd seen and felt for back then—Then they had held an innocence, a desperate fury and hurt; passion. Now…

_Now they're steeled over, clinical and filled with the burden of necessity, _She thought with a somber intrigue, realizing the connection. _He was the boy…_

On that fateful day, as the head of the family swung limply from a rope, growing cold, a young Link had taken to sitting at the foot of the gallows, simply unable to be moved by any who attempted it. He had curled up, hugging his knees to his chest and burying his face in his arms, sobbing quietly. As the masses departed, few lingering for more than idle gossip, through the dissipating crowd walked a young woman, black hair tied shortly into a tight plat at the back of her neck. She'd slipped away from the blacksmith's shop front while her father haggled, intent on consoling the boy.

She did not cry, even as a girl—Her father had taught her better than that. A boy that had fought against the grip of fully grown guards so feverously, so tenaciously, shouldn't shame himself thereafter with tears. He deserved better, and so did the boy's deceased family member.

Link hadn't moved, even hearing the footsteps behind him; she'd come to a stop beside his crouched position, looking up at the corpse without words. Three, maybe four minutes passed, until finally the girl knelt down, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder.

"…Sitting here and crying about him won't bring him back, you know." She drawled bluntly, though with a much softer tone than she'd normally use.

"Shut up!" He yelled, voice cracking with hurt, as through blonde bangs those bright blue eyes peered up at her with anger. "Everything is ruined now! He's gone, and we're gonna lose the ranch…" Link choked out, pausing some. "He didn't do anything… He never killed anybody! Why will nobody believe that? Why didn't they?"

Ashei studied him calmly, not reacting to his tone at all. She shrugged, glancing up to the corpse again as it swung lightly in the breeze. "None of that matters now. He's gone. If you're going to lose everything, then you need to get up and start fighting for it instead of crying about it like you've already given up hope."

Link stood abruptly, smacking her hand away with a fierce rage burning in his eyes. He bared his teeth, seething through them. "What can I do? I'm a kid! I don't know how to run a ranch! Nobody will buy from traitors!" He yelled, his hands balling into fists.

"Well, he should have thought of that before pissing off whoever is responsible for all of this." She offered plainly, not actually realizing how cold she seemed.

With a cry of emotional turmoil and fury, Link swung, his fist coming around in a left hook to connect soundly with Ashei's cheek. The girl stumbled back, a tooth knocked loose from the impact and letting the metallic tang of blood coat her tongue. She blinked, caught by surprise, and righted just in time to see the boy come around for a second hit.

This time however, the training she'd done with her father kicked in, and the incoming fist was caught easily as she let fly a punch of her own, instinctive but far more precise. Link was sent careening to the cobblestone, landing with a heavy thump and a pained groan, his hand coming to cover the assaulted eye—no doubt it would blacken by the day's end. He cringed, body twitching, and shifted to prop himself up on his elbow to start getting up again; a hateful glare was sent the girls way as he found himself lacking the energy to continue the scrap.

She cocked her head to the side to spit in a tomboyish manner, ridding her mouth of blood and eyeing him. "You may not be able to run a ranch, but you sure as hell have a mean left hook." Ashei took a step forward, and the boy flinched defensively, though she simply extended a hand. "Instead of moping around with all that pain, put it to good use—find the bloke responsible for tearing your life apart. End him. Make sure he doesn't hurt anybody else, yeah?"

Link glared for a moment more before reluctantly taking her hand, allowing himself to be pulled up. Steely eyes fixated on the stone between their shoes, his hands flexing into fists and relaxing again as his lips drew tight.

Ashei gave him a heavy pat to the shoulder, giving a smile. "You'll be alright. You got your whole life ahead of you, don't waste it on tears."

The boy continued to stare downward, not facing her, but gave a nod. She turned, sparing him another glance as she walked away, disappearing through the lingering spectators to return to her father, who had begun to look for her around the Blacksmith's shop.

Stumbling through castle town, finally the pair made it to the steps leading down to Telma's Bar, taking them slowly as the last few meters were crossed. The creak of the door led them into warmth and light, the tavern empty save for the odd straggler who'd not had their fill of mead at the tourney. Louise mewled from her spot atop the wooden bar, stretched out lazily next to a saucer of milk, and Telma shot her feline companion a smile—the cat followed the two around to the back, where Ashei was finally forced to settle by her old friend.

The next few hours passed at an agonizingly slow pace to all but the castle servants, who in a flurry of industrialism, had managed to prepare the arena, pack it down, and set up the grand hall in the castle for the royal gala on schedule—and as many prepped for the gathering, shining their egos and picking outfits and prearranged small talk accordingly, the few who didn't have any interest in attending planned ahead. Ashei to find Link; Link to find some clarity, and Zelda to ensure that it would be quite a while before another of her 'tourney of champions' was staged.

And the Gerudo, for once, needn't plan anything more at all, for now the way ahead was clear; he need only put it to action.

**A/N: **

**Hoo boy, that was a weird one.**

**I detest fight scenes (writing them, that is) and this one was just a pain in the butt.**

**I had two possible ends to this chapter, but in the end, I chose to focus on Ashei rather than Link—originally, we followed link while he ruminated, but that seemed a little indulgent to me, and really all he did was go visit Malinna.**

**So instead, I went with Ashei, and lo, a flashback appeared, and it fits much more nicely, I think. Link will have plenty of spotlight in the next one.**

**Sorry about the delay and all, as I've mentioned, I took time off to help my Great Uncle write his memoirs. Then I worked flat out while the bosses were away, and then my Grandfather passed to cancer, so I hung out with my mum a lot, then my uncle came back a month later as well. So family stuff happened, and basically, I just didn't have the time to write fluidly, and I don't want to serve up crap after making you wait so long.**

**I'm not entirely happy with this chapter, given how slapdash it feels, but whatever. I'm satisfied… I just want it out of the way so I can have Ganondorf be a prick again.**

**Anyway, thanks for being patient and more soon.**


	13. Dinner and a Show

There were a few sights in Hyrule that stood out among others; though all the land was beauteous, from the grand lake to the lush forests and tall, pristine mountains, it was perhaps the man made marvels that really brought it all together as not only a prosperous country, but a thriving empire. One of these, ranking next to the Royal libraries and the glorious castle gardens—in fact, overlooking the gardens—was the castle's Grand Hall, currently filling with people of all kinds.

Lit up by crystal chandeliers, hanging high above from marble arches, the vast space was as a flourish of technicolour as it splayed out across the walls, cast by the semiprecious stones. High arched windows, narrow and in close succession, lined the west wall to climb high toward the ceiling, cloaked in neatly tied curtains of a rich navy blue; held by golden, tasseled ropes—a perfect frame for the night garden outside, fireflies flitting about as earthly stars. Plush carpet softened the polished stone beneath, stretching as far as the chamber itself, a humble dais and small throne providing a casual seating option for royals at the top of the room.

On either side of this carpet, running the length of the walls were assorted tables and grand buffets, stacked high with platters of the finest dining available to be picked by hungry fingers. As if that weren't already convenient enough, women dressed in understated though quality uniforms wandered about to serve, carrying trays of silver and bottles of wine, to pass out goblets to whoever may thirst or have need of something to distract. They caught the eye of many a noble and upperclassman, and a few of the warriors that milled about took to following the prettiest of these women—some of the ones who'd been wounded actually played on their scrapes for flirtatious purposes, or at least when that failed, to gain some sympathetic attention. Very few were successful.

But the evening held a relaxed tone, despite some of the rigid overtones of the setting—even the rivalries of the earlier tournament had settled, for the most part, the worst of them simply keeping distance or sending the odd, annoyed glance. A good portion of the crowd mingled and talked amongst themselves, gathered at the opposite side from the throne to mill about the collection of musicians providing atmosphere. Though the music was pleasant, and not by itself remarkable enough to draw away from festivity, the attention was currently upon the main instrument or rather, it's player.

Upon a high platform with a selection of wind instruments backing her, Zelda stood wearing a regal façade, chin tilted high as delicate fingers plucked sweetly at her lyre.

She was redressed now, a black bodice embroidered with silver in flowing patterns along each hem and spiraling upward like creeping vines to a sweetheart neckline, dark maroon sleeves tipped by black lace covering her shoulders weightlessly. Maroon fabric fell with fluidity to create the rest of her floor length dress, the side split to reveal crimped silver underlay. Silken black gloves held fluid sheen as they moved; graceful lilting sweeps producing sound from the strings.

Caught up at the back to be held by an ivory pin, a shell-like crescent with two spikes, her golden tresses fell in perfect ringlets, bouncing lightly with shimmer and volume over the nape of her neck and shoulders, twisted curls falling in front of her pointed ears. The hue of her hair played wonderfully with the silvers of her attire, yet matched the Shiekah necklace and exquisitely crafted instrument—she looked, for all the world, a living treasure; spun gold hair, ivory skin and sapphire eyes, held by sterling filigree.

It was a hard task for even the highest of social climbers to divert their attentions enough to elevate themselves through conversation, when the air was so still; ears filled with her melody and eyes turning to the glow of her.

But outwardly angelic though she may be to the senses presently, underneath such a visage churned a thunderous storm of humiliation, anger and resentment. The notes her fingers would play, had the lyre not been enchanted to produce such soothing sounds, would reflect instead a discordant and empty ballad, bereft of joy and harsh with the force by which it would cry.

The King's eyes were upon her. Standing at the center of the gathering, a large entourage of strangers and familiar faces alike creating a barrier—as ever—between him and reality, her father's cool blue gaze continually landed upon her. He'd give pause to it only to make fleeting eye contact with whomever he spoke to, nodding lightly or gesturing his chalice as he talked, neatly cropped brown beard tapped occasionally in a ponderous fashion. With each move, his cape seemed to regain momentum, a subtle billow behind him to add to His Majesty's regal air.

But to Zelda, he was only a man, and a flawed one at that; he continued to disappoint her, even on the days where father and child should be at their closest, or at least, at the most considerate of each other.

Crystalline eyes always returned the King's glances, whenever they came. Though she knew better, Zelda had always succumbed to the lonely child within, hoping that in one of his looks she might find a sliver of pride, of admiration, for the woman she was swiftly becoming—had become. But it was never as she expected when her gaze caught his, searching it. What may have seemed a fond twinkle was merely a relief at curbed behaviours; a proud regard only pride in what traits he and his men had seen fit to instill. The King saw her as an asset, as his legacy… an important piece on his chessboard, above a Pawn but still, far from a Queen.

Never once did it enter his mind that she may be a player, and not a piece to be moved.

Zelda tilted her head downward some, returning a rather shallow attention to the strings her fingers danced upon—a wonderful show, but as always, her passion seemed to fade and now her movement had become puppet like; stiffened and tense. She didn't care for acting anymore. Not to play a ballad convincingly with feelings she didn't possess, and certainly, not to play a Princess that she simply couldn't be. She was no longer partially what they wanted her to be, to pick and choose from the best of her—no, she'd expanded far beyond that. A complex, intelligent, awkward sort of person, capable in error and the lessons learnt of it; far more so than a streamlined and polished woman of class, who would fear even the smallest mistake.

It seemed nobody cared for her to give up her act, likewise, as she was tired of the façade and the lies. Nobody should have to seek happiness from secrets, or by straying into social taboos to test how far they could extend without shattering the world around them.

But there they were again, his eyes upon her—Zelda could see the admiration in them, the delight, the sheer joy at witnessing his daughter, his rose, unfold. Somewhere deep inside, the little girl in her that had longed to see those things in his blue eyes smiled, but the woman she was now held back tears. Such innocuous things she'd required of him as a child… how little, how effortless… And he'd given none of it.

She was no longer his rose to watch unfold. She had blossomed long ago, and begun to wilt unnoticed, caught in that suffocating shadow of his; cold. Sheik had been the sun to shine upon her, the revitalizing rains, sturdy soil, providing foundation and growth.

That her father's gaze held fast on her with the foolish notion that he might've been responsible for any of her, on that stage as beautiful as her mother had once been, was an insult to her. Those things she'd chased all her life shimmering in his eyes came too little too late.

_For somebody that doesn't exist, _she thought with finality, her fingers coming to a slow stop as the soft lilt of a decrescendo faded into the air. She was finished now—finished with all of it, and those last notes broken by quiet applause were for the King alone.

A final goodbye from his imaginary daughter.

The Princess' eyes fluttered open once more, a hollow smile on her lips given to the people about as she took a humble bow, setting the lyre aside. Her ears were filled with praise as she stepped down from the platform, holding her dress lightly in her hands, though stopped at the foot of the few steps. Abruptly, and to the bemusement of quite a few—enough to outright hush some mid-sentence—black pumps were kicked off of her feet to lay uselessly abandoned by the steps.

The King slowed, his hands clasped; frozen in position from where a clap had left them—his thick eyebrows furrowed some toward her, an almost nervous twitch to the corner of his mouth. Stepping forward immediately, he approached her with subtlety, as if trying to discreetly hide the act behind his cape as he took her aside some.

"Zelda, dearest, that was a wonderful performance, truly, top notch…" He smiled gently, his regal voice catching some at the end, burdened by other things to say. "…But, you mustn't spoil it now with such… childish habits, hmm?" A brow was raised ever so slightly, his suggestion tainted with the hints of disciplinary scrutiny. His cape fluttered lightly as his hand waved toward her discarded footwear, and his proud smile returned swiftly.

"Now, put your shoes back on and we'll go for a round about the room. You've yet to meet the ambassador from Labrynna, he's quite excited to finally make your acquaintance, dear." His chuckle was a knowing one, as if he had planned it out already. "Lord Quintell is an advisor to Prince Elliam, you know. Shan't be long until you'll be meeting him either, I imagine."

Zelda stared at him a moment, as if meeting a stranger, crystalline gaze wavering on him enough to suggest she may be pondering his hints toward her first suitor. The corners of her lips quivered some, as for the first time in a long while, her mind silenced the thousands of chattering thoughts and found piercing clarity, if only for the moment. Her hollow smile from before reappeared, though now it was full and genuine—The King saw the spark of it and blinked, taken aback. He'd never expected her to take the moves into being courted so well.

But before he could voice his relief of this, she spoke with a happy and decisive voice; a tone that reminded him so of the Late Queen, it almost hurt to hear it.

"I think not, for now, thank you… I've worn those shoes a long time, Father, and they hurt my feet." Her head titled some as she said this, as if it were the simplest truth in the world, blonde ringlets swaying lightly. "I'll do just fine without them, I think."

Her father blinked once, a slow intake of breath as he inclined his head, peering at her strangely as her folded arms across his breastplate. In this light, the corner of his mouth seemed to pull into a grimace, and Zelda could see the creases beginning to take his face—even the odd grey hair could be found around his ear, if one cared to look.

"…Hurt your feet… I see…" He sighed, thoughtful as he regarded her bare feet—still visible as she held her hem from the floor. He hadn't thought she'd worn them that long; a few hours at best. _They must've been poorly made, _he thought tersely, making a mental note to arrange for a better cordwainer.

"Very well, then. If they cause you discomfort, I won't force you to wear them… But, Dearest, I would encourage you to adjourn briefly when you can to find a more suitable pair."

Zelda laughed brightly, as if he'd made a well-timed joke; indeed he had, though he was not aware of it. Strangely, even unawares of what his words were truly being twisted to in her head, or what her own had meant intrinsically, the Princess felt some closure with the odd exchange. She wasn't surprised the subtle metaphor went on deaf ears, but saying it aloud in some form helped.

A gloved hand rose to pat his arm reassuringly, her smile as sweet as ever, and she could see he was charmed by it—but then, it'd been so long since he'd seen her smile like that.

"I've already chosen a pair that should fit me nicely, Father. An old favorite of mine, in fact… I intend to shine and wear them as soon as possible." She giggled, turning then to slip away with a graceful, even agile, gait into the thick of those gathered, leaving the King caught awkwardly somewhere between reprieve and concern behind her.

He couldn't help feeling as if he'd missed something crucially important. _Perhaps I've forgotten to hand over the proposals for Eldin Bridge to the architects for technical drafting in all the fuss of today…Bother. I'll have to check that now, or it may well drive me mad._ And with little more than a shrug, a scornful look given to the shoes upon the floor, His Majesty turned around with a smile to resume group praise with the other guests about his daughter—and ascertain whether Lord Quintell had caught any of her performance.

Meanwhile, ferried though a grand marble arch by an escort of soldiers, as inconspicuously as was possible and easily among those 'fashionably late', the day's Champion slinked quietly with a plain, though pretty, redhead on his arm. To any onlookers, it would almost appear as if the young man was being dragged by the equally youthful woman, despite holding a slight limp.

Link and Malinna had arrived, immediately set upon by various fans and nobles alike, dodging questions and giving a nod to the soldiers as they left.

The two of them offset each other wonderfully—A smart white dress, sleeveless with a simple black sash about the waist, was worn by the young ranching woman, her fiery locks tamed for once in a high bun, though her fringe flicked outward from her face freely. Bouncy and vivacious, her bright eyes and pearly smile lit up her features to lend a cute femininity despite the step of a stockman.

The champion himself, quite obviously uncomfortable in the clothes, wore a neatly pressed white dress-shirt, the firm collar sweeping about his neck and embellished with the familiar blue pattern of their family. Dark trousers with a slightly offset ironed crease in the legs—Malinna's best attempt to fancy them up some—were held in place by a silver buckled belt, made of quality leather; of their own cattle no less. A buttoned black vest tied it together, a slender silver chain dipping from the breast pocket, though secretly, there was no fob watch held within. The chain cost enough as it was.

While Malinna's hair was neat and tidy, the result of hours worth of fussing in a breath fogged mirror, Link sported a new haircut; so recent that it was not yet two hours old. The lengthy ends held earlier at the nape of his neck had been sheared away, the back of his hair now worn short, though trimmed bangs still remained to cover his temples.

The boy cringed at how quickly it was noticed, brushing by an obese woman in various furs with a forced smile as her chubby, ringed fingers swept the back of his now bare neck with flirtatious glee. Though she managed an insincere and cheeky apology, the already awkward encounter turned for the worse when the woman remarked on he and Malinna making a 'cute pair', and that many girls would be disappointed tonight in lieu of that fact. A furious blush crossed Link's face, and tearing his sister quickly away from present company, he made a beeline for the gardens while the woman and a few bystanders laughed benignly.

Pushing through the function easily, Link began to slow as the pair passed the threshold of the outer vestibule, large iron doors open to the night air. Malinna had come far enough though, her amusement over the joke waning now to be replaced by a sharp tug to his arm, halting him as he blinked toward her.

"Would you calm down? You're as jittery as a sinner on sacred grounds!" She jibed playfully, unwinding from him arm to cross hers, hands rubbing skin to warm it against the sudden chill. "You know we've gotten that before, no harm done."

The young man stared at her with a sharp side glance a moment, a grimace becoming clear—the tint of pink on his cheeks had lessened some, but he still looked flustered, hand picking at his clothes unconsciously in a silent protest to wearing them.

"Yeah, well… I'm not in the mood for it tonight…" Link turned away then, leaning some against a vine twisted pillar as his gaze scanned the gardens wearily. "…Didn't want to be here, anyway…" He mumbled, a bit sulkily.

Malinna's cheer faded to be replaced by a motherly sort of look, a mixture of patience and disappointment. Her worn fingers rapped upon her arms some, and her toes twitched within her sandaled heels as a prelude to a tapping foot.

_Of course not, _she thought sarcastically, _You'd much rather be asleep under a tree some place._ Finally with a sigh, she stepped closer, a hand on her hip and another to clamp upon his shoulder.

"Don't you go being that way again. You done some real good, and I'm not about to let your moods spoil it. I won't have it, Fairy boy, not after today." She warned low, eyes narrowing.

Link recoiled inwardly at the old pet name—something she'd coined before the death of their patriarch, common as children, but now adults, it was something used only in close moments between the siblings, or to comfort. It had come about of the dreamy looks he'd often get, staring up at the sky, which Tarron would observe as the boy being 'off with the fairies somewhere'. Malinna had become overly fond of it, finding it funny, and so the moniker came about—Link loathed it initially, but now, years later, it brought a sense of home with it to settle and anchor him wherever he was. It was the entire reason he'd brought her along.

Staring off to trace the rosebushes, mapping each splash of crimson in the dark lit garden, the young Champion gave a half hearted shrug, slouching a bit as if the weight of her hand was enormous. The red head shifted closer then, softening as the hand held to her hip came to rest on the side of his arm, her body tilted to peer around to his face.

"…Alright, what's the matter?" She questioned in a slightly defeated tone—she just wanted to celebrate, everything was finally coming together for them, but even in her happiness she couldn't bear to feel it without him. He was the one who'd earned it, not her.

But Link shook his head lightly, blonde hair wisping with the movement about his brow. His voice came low and distant, a whisper in the night, as steely eyes turned to her with something in finally shining in them—uncertainty.

"Today… When I faced Valenzuela… I felt something. I don't even know how to explain it to you, I have no idea what it was or what it meant, or why, but…" He stopped, drawing a slightly shaky breath. "…I recognize it. I know it so well, like it's always been there, but I've never…" He trailed off, brows furrowed.

"Do you… think I'm a bad person, Malinna? Making a living off the crime of others?" He asked suddenly, sincere in his question though perhaps, a bit afraid of the answer.

The redhead stared at him with a blank look. Link, a bad person? That was like asking if an octopus like to paint fences—it didn't make any sense at all. Slowly breaking from her surprise, she shook her head, fixating on his handsome features with a curious, through confused frown.

"No, of course not… Where is this coming from? Link, I don't… understand…?" She stuttered, unsure of what to say or think.

He turned to face her fully, pulling away from her touch as the flicker in his eyes threatened to fade, steely blue icing over again. His gaze looked to the full moon above them, and he swore he felt a sudden urge to howl at it—let loose his frustration and questions without having to explain them or think through them.

"Malinna... I almost killed him today. Badon." He said quietly, voicing the internal tirade that had been raging since he'd left the arena. "I don't know how I let it happen, but he must've gotten under my skin. I just… snapped, and at the end… I wanted him to die. But… not him. Somebody else."

The young woman studied him carefully, blue eyes suddenly analyzing him. A tentative hand was raised, pressing gently to his forehead and brushing fringe aside, as if checking for a temperature. With a sigh it fell, limp at her side as her face hardened into one of thought.

"Link, we swore to Dad we'd never take the life of a man, no matter his ways." She started cautiously, soft with a gentle look in her eyes. "It's not for us to decide. The Goddesses judge and design our fates; we can't be tampering with things like that. It ain't right, and you've never killed or made profit by killing, either, thank heavens."

Gritting his teeth like a child who hadn't been heard, Link's head hung to be caught lazily by his hand, as if stricken suddenly by a headache. "You think I don't know that? I know we promised. I know that it's not for us to do… but… What about whoever got him killed? Would you honestly sit back and let him be, Malinna, given the chance to finally pay him back for everything we've been through? Really?"

She hissed her reply, scowling at him as if he'd spouted utter blasphemy. "Dog gone it, Link, that's not fair! You know that's… He'll get what he deserves. Everybody gets theirs in time, good and bad, it comes back tenfold. After our troubles, and all your hard work, you finally are getting the good you deserve…" She straightened, calming as she went, until she possessed a cold look similar to Link's when in battle. "Everybody gets theirs back." She repeated, resolute. "And so will he."

Steely eyes fixed upon her now with something foreign in them—they almost looked dead, as far as the boy she'd grown up with being behind them.

"…What if… My killing him _was_ him getting his back?"

Link's voice was devoid of emotion then, lingering thick in the air between them, unrecognizable to either as they simply stared each other down in the moonlight, shadows upon their faces literally casting the world in light and darkness, for that moment.

"That ain't for you to make true by your reasoning. Even if it was justified, killing a man for his sins against you and yours, only the Goddesses can give you that opportunity as a task, and you and me both know that old wives' tale about hearing gods ain't true." She whispered, a mask of faith raised high to shield her from the darkness of what they spoke—the darkness in her that would gladly rip the throat of her father's killer, given the means to do so, though she'd never face this for fear of it consuming her.

"…We prayed a thousand times over for guidance and never heard anything. Turns out, we knew what to do all along on our own, and we got by. It was hard, but we got by." She whispered, a subtle pride in that they had scraped through against the odds warming her chest.

"I'm sick of 'getting by'; seeing you work yourself half to death! What about what I felt today? What I saw?" He questioned darkly, his hand now made into fists at his sides, held tight as her restrained his emotions. "I saw another man, one I don't know; along with that weird surge of… energy. It was empowering, overwhelming… it drove me to defend myself and ensure my survival. As if… Something wants me to live, badly… And it was urgent, like I had a purpose to fulfill, and it was to kill that man. To stop him... Almost as if it might fix everything that's happened."

He grimaced toward the ground, polished boot scuffing at the ground with agitation. "You don't know what I saw, Malinna; it felt like a dream. I knew him somehow, and I knew he needed to be gone; wiped from the Earth itself, if possible. He's bad things. Just… bad things, don't ask me why…" Link suddenly seemed to settle some, his muscles unwinding the tension as his hands slowly relaxed. "…I… I think he might have been the one… who got him killed."

"Link, you can't know that, you were wounded, it was probably just adrenaline and instinct—"

"No, it wasn't." He uttered suddenly, blinking with a sudden notion as something in the back of his mind clicked. His gaze rose to lock onto hers, his hands reaching out to grab hold of her wrists, desperate that she listen. "It was so much more than that. It was a message, a sign… Something! It's bigger than I am… I've been searching for that bastard, whoever they are for so long, I'm close now, I can tell! And it's important, like maybe, just maybe, Uncle Tarron died so that I would seek his killer out."

Malinna's eyes grew clouded as she stared into his—he was right, on some level, she knew deep down that he was. He had always been destined for something big, and everybody who'd ever known him agreed that the boy would go on to do great things. But a fear of losing him clawed at her belly whenever she thought of it, and it terrified her to think that she'd be left alone in this world; she didn't feel fate tugging at her the same way it seemed to with him. Their destinies were different, but if they were too diverse… If they never intertwined further than fond memories for their future selves, whatever happened… She just didn't know how to cope with that.

"Maybe the Gods are telling me that I need to get rid of him. End him. For everyone…" Link grew clear now, the turmoil of questions within stilling with quiet epiphany. "So he won't hurt anybody like he did us; nobody will suffer like that by him again, and the world will be slightly better off, if only by a little bit. Just one man…" He trailed off, pulling back some to give her some space, and releasing the grip on her wrists.

"Uncle Tarron wouldn't have died in vain, then… His death would mean something; truly. I know I promised, but this time I just don't think I can keep my word… Not if I'm right." He finished softly, desperate for that to be true.

The redhead peered downward at her shoes, wriggling her toes as a meager distraction, wishing this conversation had never needed to exist. But slowly, ever so slowly, she began to nod, understanding. A shaken breath drew inward, calming, before being released again passively. From beneath fiery wisps of fringe, her blue eyes shimmered with hope, and some forgiveness, but for the most part, acceptance.

"Okay, Fairy Boy… You win." She smiled lightly, the light spatter of freckled skin over the bridge of her nose crinkling briefly as she spoke. "If you believe that, then you go do it. You always did know what was right to do, when it came to it… And it always got done, too, even if you had to do it yourself…"

Her hand lifted to settle on his shoulder, pulling him into a chaste hug as the other encircled his waist, her chin on his collarbone. "I trust your judgment… And… Dad would too. If this is what you were always meant to do, being up there with the soldier boys, then find this man as a knight. Teach the others what it is to be courageous, and fight with honor, for the good of others." She squeezed him lightly, pulling away to give him a much brighter, more encouraging smile. "Fix up those cowards, turn them all into men like you, and the world will be more than just 'a bit better off for it'."

Link took a moment for her words to sink in, visibly processing what she'd said, before a grin took his lips—it was an adventurous one, like he'd held as a child, full of a magic; that of being alive and well. He lifted her then, earning a light yelp as he spun her, holding her high with a laugh before setting her down with wolfish cheek.

"What are you doing?" She cackled gleefully, caught off guard.

"Well, it's not much of a party without dancing, is it?"

He copped a playful smack for that as Malinna gave a pout, but it vanished quickly as she took hold of his arm again, leading him toward the light of the indoor celebrations hurriedly and with a sudden burst of childish enthusiasm.

"Then we better go show them how to cut a rug! Strike up the band, the Lonell's are in town! " She beamed, dragging him along and all but forgetting about his injury as she pulled him into random dance moves as they moved inside, laughing at themselves.

The jovial nature they returned with quickly caught on, and as the ranchers made a carefree show of less than appropriate dancing for the mood of the gala, many eyes turned to watch them with mild amusement. Some even clapping in time with their steps, and bouncing along in subdued dances of their own.

From the shadow of an archway, leaning inconspicuous against the stone as attendees breezed past, chattering about whatever held their interest and sipping at their drinks, Ganondorf stood silent. His arms folded over his chest, bandage wrapped fingers rapped pensively against bicep; he watched the ranchers as they came back into the social fray, though something had changed. The disguised Gerudo had observed Link since his arrival, and though nobody else may pay attention to such a thing, it was painfully obvious to him that the boy had entered haunted and now, was not struggling so under his burden.

But why? What triggered such a thing? It was obvious, during his final bout, that the rancher had been shaken by his slip… Ganondorf had not missed the intent of the strike, and it had enraptured him for that moment. As if all else were placed aside, paled against some internal happening within the boy, spurred in that instant that Courage flared; like a puppet unaware of its strings until suddenly, his control was stolen and now he contemplates the existence of the puppeteer.

A grimace took his mouth to crease lines at the corners as these thoughts turned upon himself, and his supposed origins. Perhaps there was something dangerous in them both, stealing their bodies to possess them when occasion called, rendering them the pawns of destiny that they were. But then, if Ganondorf himself derived his being from another, and the boy as well—it seemed a failsafe had set itself upon him, a reflex to repeat the past and ensure a hero was born of it—then what of Zelda?

And that girl, the one he danced with—_She must be the key to his sudden resolve,_ he thought suddenly, an old ache reminding him of a woman's power to soothe. She was an anchor, or else, Link would still be brooding in the gardens, hiding his confusion and shame as he wrestled new demons.

_She cannot be allowed to see him; _Ganondorf's eyes squinted under thick brows, _She's too important to him… If he fights for her, he will fight with his all. The Hero always makes a connection, and this is his Zelda, guiding him and mending wounds so that he can keep battling. No matter…I can sway this so that even she will think him a traitor._

The Princess was no longer Link's, so fate had arranged a replacement, at least as far as the boy's muse.

Ganondorf had stolen her place in this; crushed in his very hands. Zelda did not revert to 'herself' when Wisdom flared, how could she, when his necklace ensured these things were suppressed? All of his conditioning; rewiring her very mind to think differently, act differently. Be different. What might she become, when finally it grew too strong to contain, as it seemed to have done with Link?

He could only hope she would be the weapon he'd been forging, but still, the curiosity remained… If each of them drew on an ancient and, indeed, ingrained role…

_I wonder…what is hers?_

Artificially pointed ears perked to the sound of footsteps behind, approaching; they were leisurely, though taken with purpose at an even pace… Ganondorf could tell by this alone it was not one of the crowd. Drawn from his thoughts, his head turned ever so slightly in acknowledgement, though his crimson gaze remained focused on the boy.

"…I had worried some that you might have a companion in the shadows this night, Sheik, but young Link is finally coming out of his shell." The calm and refined voice of the King drifted soft between them, private under the din of the festivities, and a chuckle was contained in his words.

Despite himself, the disguised Gerudo smirked in a benign manner, fingers stilling as his thoughts did. "Indeed, Sire. Seems the boy's reputation has improved as you predicted… I'd be hard pressed to find to find anyone in the room unimpressed by him, let alone count the numerous fans whispering of his future."

The King nodded, holding a goblet high in a silent, unseen toast. "And a bright one it is… I have some reservations about how to deal with his employment given his age, though I hold high hopes he'll adapt quickly." He offered the Shiekah a side glance, smiling some. "…You on the other hand may take some convincing."

Ganondorf raised a brow towards him, though offered little. "And why would you think that?"

His Majesty's laugh came more than a chuckle, but held a strange cynicism to it. "I know I may seem a bit doddery as I age… But despite good humour, I am neither deaf nor blind just yet." His cape swung lightly as he turned towards the other man by a step, studying him some. "You've kept a close eye on our Champion since he stepped foot in the arena. Everything you said to Zelda about him was correct, and your assessment of his skills was outstanding… And yet, you seem troubled by them."

The Gerudo kept his silence for a moment, his chest tightening some the more the King spoke. He hated how observant the otherwise absent man could be; it was as if he were cursed to draw the King's attention at the worst possible convenience. His gaze broke away from the ranchers to fall upon the shorter man, tracing the filigree upon his attire, before the corner of his mouth twitched to speak.

"…Truthfully, Sire… They do indeed trouble me." Ganondorf confessed quietly, his weathered features set into an unreadable expression. "He possesses remarkable skill, and I don't doubt he has all the makings of a Knight… But he himself is conflicted by the past. You may smooth the memories and opinions of others, but you cannot soothe his; I am troubled simply because, with all due respect Sire, so is the boy. That this does not worry you…" He trailed off, waiting keenly for a response—he was curious as to what it would be.

"You truly are gifted in reading others." The King mused quietly, cool blue eyes flitting toward the other's face in the shadow of the archway. "I envy that… Perhaps if I shared a closer tether to my own ancestry, I may still know my daughter as well as you do… She has told me numerous times of the Shiekah seeing the truth. In my occupation, Truth is hard come by; convenience, and practicality, those are the things I am forced to see."

A wry sort of scoff hitched in his throat as the King's eyes turned to watch Link as Ganondorf had been. With a subdued tone, the sovereign continued.

"You've done wonders with my Zelda; taught her to keep her beliefs and embrace the truth of things. Under our noses, you've groomed her into a fine young woman, and in the years to come, you'll see fit that she is a fine Queen as well." He drew a breath, slow and reflective, as if choosing his words. "…Link is indeed conflicted, as Zelda once was. I can give the boy a start, but it is you that I believe can make him the sort of Captain Zelda will need."

Ganondorf paused, a sick twist in his stomach as the gravity of what the King had asked hit him. A bemused stare was given, as through the Gerudo's head flashed everything that he'd planned, done, said; here he'd forged such connections, such trust. He held a position in this era, this family, unlike any he'd held in royal service before—a cornerstone of Hyrule, acting in relative secrecy. Depended on, respected, even acknowledged…

_And I'm going to enjoy tearing it all away from you, watching it bleed out of you as you lay dying at my feet, you pretentious bastard;_ The malicious grin tore at his face, moving muscle even as he tried to hide it. Against his best efforts to conceal the horrid expression, at the very least, a twisted sort of smile broke loose, and he knew there was no helping it.

"You honour me, Sire." He spoke quietly, almost distractedly, though his attention was clearly on the King. "You entrust me with your legacy… And I will ensure that it continues as strong as ever before. Stronger. I will take care of Link, as per your request… I had intended on taking him aside tonight to discuss these things privately. He will be recognized all throughout the land when I am done."

Gratitude flashed through the sovereign's cool blue eyes, a sense of finality and relief upon his features as fingers rose to tug lightly at his trimmed beard, out of habit. His smile spread sincerely; a warmth to it, as if all of his internal worried were wiped away with the Shiekah's declaration.

"Thank you, my friend. I have no doubt of that." The King gave him a nod, placing a firm grip to Ganondorf's shoulder in a friendly gesture, before spotting the Ambassador he'd been searching for over by the buffet. "…Now then, back to political matters…" He feigned a small sigh, cocking his head. "Don't coop yourself up in the shadows all night, Sheik. Really, have some fun for once." He teased, moving on as his cape billowing lightly behind him with the movement.

The disguised Gerudo let out a low, rumbling chuckle, not phased as to whether the retreating King heard him. "Oh, I'll have my fun tonight. Make no mistake about that…"

The jovial song that tore dancing from the ranching pair had come to a spirited end, and Ganondorf's brow twitched with opportunity as the boy and Malinna took a light bow to their light-hearted applause. Link didn't seem all that bothered by it now that he had the woman there; such subtle nuances of their familial ties, but the Gerudo could see how strong their codependence actually was. It was likely the boy would flounder some when caught alone without this reinforcement, becoming withdrawn and a shell of himself as he had during the day.

His eyes flicked toward the various people around, and considered his options.

_So many eyes to watch him as the 'Champion' is bested by his superior…_Ganondorf's twisted mind ticked with the want of it. _But to fight him here, in the middle of the gala would be too much a cause for trouble…If I'm seen as an antagonist, doubtless, the gossips would not let it rest. That may cause issue later._

Either way, the Gerudo would play this off as a test of the boy's true skill—nobody would doubt that a Shiekah's assessment of him in a friendly spar was anything but that. However, to do so in the midst of the crowds may turn later into something for question; when the King was dead, and fingers were pointed, such an event so clear in public memory may seem amiss, let alone that Shiekah were prized on truth and realistically, truth held no place over the coming days… were he to fight the boy and not 'pick up on hidden malice' it may in fact work against him.

His teeth ground together with an internal frustration. How he wanted to tear the boy down in front of his new fans. Watch the amusement in their faces and see them chatter on about how no man could match a Shiekah for skill, belittling the boy further and reaffirming his infancy as a warrior. It was just the blow to Link's pride that would ease things along now that the 'Hero' had overcome whatever was troubling him earlier.

But perhaps, for now, public shame could wait just a few hours more. A defeat was a defeat, and a few hand picked spectators would equal the worthless crowd.

A sweet hum filled his ears, the disguised Gerudo turned his thoughts toward the sound—the sinister intent staining his mind softened some with the sight of Zelda approaching him, though his spite for the boy gained some refinement. A subtle smile, twisted with a notion of poetry came to his face. Zelda had requested he test the boy, and so, would think nothing of him holding her to it; _And such valuable eyes to fall before, coupled with that of the redhead._

Barefoot still, holding the hem from the carpet as if proudly showing of the flesh of her ankles to shock and cause whisper, the Princess padded up to his side, hidden then with him in the shadow of the arch. Her crystalline eyes were brighter now than they had been all day, and the effect of liquor she'd consumed earlier had vanished completely. A gloved hand reached out to the side of his arm, touching it in a fond and discreet affection as the young woman smiled in a return to his.

"Aren't you just the life of the party." Ganondorf teased quietly, a sharp sarcasm to his tone, though a hint of fun hid within it. Crimson eyes traced over her dress appreciatively, a greedy glint to them, before he covered this with a slight tilt of his head. "What brings you to my dark little corner?"

Zelda rolled her eyes with a coy sort of smile, shaking her head lightly as ringlets swayed, before peering up at the man. "Don't you start." She warned with warmth. "You know how I hate being the center of attention. I suppose you saw that horrid performance of mine?"

The Gerudo smirked, a number of witty remarks running through his mind, though he settled instead for bringing a hand to the side of her face and brushing a wisp of gold from her brow. "You did well… Granted my little charm helped tremendously, but despite that, you put on a good show yourself, Zelda."

He glanced down then, noticing the absence of footwear. "…You played bare foot?" His brow rose in amusement.

Zelda laughed, waving a hand dismissively. "Oh, I wish I had… The looks would have been priceless…" She giggled. "No, I wore those black heels. The ones that feel like glass… I kicked them off when I was done, much to Father's horror."

"Ah." He paused, squinting some as he pondered that for a moment. "After all his planning for the night to go smoothly…" A grin came. "…Did his eye twitch?"

The Princess almost choked on the sip she'd taken from her glass, laughter trapped behind it as she shook, holding a hand to her chest and nodding enthusiastically. When she finally managed to swallow, she gasped, utter mirth in her voice. "You know actually, it did!" She cackled.

Ganondorf chuckled as well, the humour of it catching him for a moment in spite of everything else. Fingers rose to scratch distractedly at the side of his face as the hilarity faded, and his attention returned to the ranchers out amongst the fray. Now would be the perfect time.

"Actually, Zelda…" He started, sending her a sideward glance with a wry and sneaky sort of gleam to his eye. "I am rather glad you came along at this moment. I was just about to… 'congratulate' our new Champion." He smirked down at her. "Care to join me?"

She stared up at him blankly for a moment, considering this, and turned her gaze toward the boy in question. As she took stock of him, and the woman he was with, her cheerful smile became twisted to match her attendant's nature, and when again she looked up at the Gerudo, he could clearly see the girl he'd crafted shining in her eyes.

"What a wonderful idea." She purred, the subtle curve of her brow entertaining a myriad of possibilities. "I was beginning to get tired of the scenery, anyway… Let's take them for a stroll through the Gardens to get acquainted, shall we?"

Ganondorf's arm came behind her to rest a hand gently at the square of her shoulders, guiding her to move with him out of the archway, his attention flitting toward the vestibule and gardens thereafter; private enough, and they were likely to be undisturbed and avoid unwanted attention. How practical of her—she truly was a clever little thing.

"Perfect." He replied, his voice but a hint of things to come.

On the other side of the chambers, unaware of the approaching duo for the moment, Link was picking various finger foods from a buffet table, trying each and deciding what he did and didn't like. He spied a particular morsel of interest and plucked it from the few left, bringing it to his lips and taking half of it with a bite. But as the strange mixture of crab and fig, with a spice that he couldn't identify, prickled his tongue with a muddy texture, the boy's face went blank.

Malinna, who looked a trifle embarrassed by his questionable manners, blinked as his face suddenly contorted into one of confusion and disgust. A napkin was taken from the table and handed to him quickly before anybody noticed. "Here," She whispered, "Spit."

Taking it from her without subtlety, Link opened his mouth over it, letting the chewed slop slide unceremoniously off of his tongue by way of gravity to fall into the napkin with a wet sound. The red head cringed at this, losing any of her own appetite and looking around to see if anyone had noticed her brother's poor table manners, but Link wasn't done yet. He shuddered visibly with a noise of disapproval, scrunching the napkin into a balled package of half eaten crab cake, and then returned the other half of the morsel to the platter with the rest of them.

Seeing this, the woman offered him a lofty whack to the arm, gaping in false shock. "Yuck!" She almost laughed.

Link grinned a guilty, sheepish sort of smile at her, feigning some hurt from the light hearted assault. "What?" He asked, gesturing the soggy napkin at the platter. "You try one, I dare you."

"No thanks, I'm right." She snickered, unable to hide her amusement though she tried to look chastising.

To top things off, Link tossed the napkin at her, which she caught on instinct. Malinna gasped with revulsion, feeling the warm ooze in the thin slip of tissue, and juggled it some before it was tossed over the back of the buffet table to be hidden by a curtain. Her arms went bolt straight at her sides as she surprised herself, her mouth closing to form a thin line as a blush crept up. The two of them stared at the ghost of its path for a moment, glancing at each other, before pulling guilty faces and snickering.

"Oh, somebody should have warned you about the crab cakes… Terrible, really." A lilting voice called above the din, a giggle to its sweetness.

The pair froze, their humour vanishing with an almost palpable moment of panic rushing through them, as both Link and Malinna turned to see the Princess Zelda and her attendant standing not a few feet away, pleasant looks upon their faces despite obviously having witnessed the napkin toss.

"I would stay away from the lemon tarts as well, as they're quite bitter… But the quiche lorraine is to die for, I assure you." Zelda smiled, bowing her head lightly in greeting.

The ranchers seemed a bit taken aback, as if forgetting that it was appropriate for them to speak, but Malinna was the first to break free of it. She dipped with an awkward sort of curtsy, far less feminine than intended, and put on a bright smile for the Royal.

"Pr-Princess Zelda! An honour to meet you, your Highness…" She stuttered some, the last jitters fading as she nudged Link quickly, and after a blank look from him, saw that he gave a light bow and a nod.

Zelda's hand rose with a friendly smile. "Don't spoil this with formalities, it's quite alright." She offered dismissively, somewhat irked by their immediate change in demeanor. "Sheik and I thought it would be best to meet you in more casual terms—We do tend to prefer them ourselves."

"Oh… Well, if you insist?" Malinna seemed to shrug, and with the movement, her previous care for propriety was lost to a more genuine smile. "I'm Malinna Lonell, Link's sister and 'plus one'." She chimed happily, leaning against her brother playfully.

"Smart move, I'd imagine it'd be rather boring without close company to lighten things." Zelda laughed, knowing this to be true of herself and Sheik as well—her crystalline gaze drifted toward Link, however, even as she addressed his sister. She could see the boy shift some under scrutiny, but not hers. His own attention was locked with the Shiekah at her side, and her attendant likewise returned it; something tense between them like words unspoken.

_Well, I suppose the last he saw Sheik was the day he spilt the milk, _she thought idly, remembering the reasons for such a reaction.

Turning her head slightly to match the direction of her eyes, Zelda broke between the two carefully. "And of course, Link, our new Champion… I see that you remember my attendant, Sheik." Her voice seemed to echo a moment between all of them.

"…Remember? Link, have you met him before?" Malinna asked, her brows furrowed slightly toward the boy with a benign curiosity. She felt somewhat left out; Link had met this imposing character before and not come home to excitedly tell her about it?

Broken away from the trance of recognition and memory, Link's body twitched to life, and steely blue eyes sent a glance to his sister; his mouth ghosted the words before his voice came.

"…I met him years ago… He was the one that fixed up the milk order before… Uh… Well, I've met him, yeah..." He shrugged, his eyes stopping on Zelda briefly on their way back to the behemoth of a man. Even fully grown, Link still felt small next to him—He had to have been close to seven and a half feet.

Ganondorf felt an eerie tingle down his spine, a satisfaction he couldn't place. The boy remembered him, even through all the trauma of those few days. It pleased him in a small way that even the seemingly scatter brained boy he'd met then had taken a powerful enough impression to last into his adulthood, despite how easily it could've been lost to his Uncle's death.

"Yes," The disguised Gerudo started, continuing on from where Link had trailed off. "He was much shorter then." He chuckled, eyeing Malinna and schooling his face to keep anything predatory from it. "A shame that I couldn't do more to help over those days… Had I known what was coming, I may have kept a better eye out. Still, the two of you have done very well for yourselves I've heard…"

Though Malinna's face held a twinge of sadness at his words, Link was the one to respond, a faint smile coming to him as his hand idly scratched the side of his trousers discreetly.

"Hey, I never got whipped in the square. I should thank you for that alone." He laughed, seeming to brush the gravity of the subject to the side. "Sheik of the Shiekah, the unoriginal Hero of the milk run. It's good to see you again, all things aside." He smiled.

Ganondorf watched the affection flood the faces of the women at the mention of this kindness of his, and inwardly, he was somewhat surprised that this innocuous act brought such fond regard—Even the boy was actually _pleased _to see him. He'd even repeated his old joke. Not only had Link remembered him, he'd remembered him warmly, like some gentle giant.

It took a great deal of effort not to scoff with laughter at that thought—had the boy instead recalled him picking up the sliver of glass, a very different conversation would be had. Link might have held a vendetta, a dark obsession of revenge, and known him truly to be a devil in disguise. But no, here, only his 'kindness' was remembered, and it made the Gerudo's gut twist gleefully with the sick irony.

"And you, boy. You've become quite the fighter… I thoroughly enjoyed watching you today. How refreshing to see you've made something of yourself from the clumsy kid you were." He grinned, letting something of a friendly teasing slip.

Malinna laughed then, the bright sound accompanied by a light pat to Link's shoulder as her brother sent her a raised brow. "Yep, he's pretty _something_, alright. But I'd have to disagree about the clumsiness, though." She winked, "You should see him try to saddle a horse."

Zelda smiled at the ranchers, sipping lightly from her glass and studying the interaction between the two. _Perhaps Father was onto something,_ she thought, _They seem like perfectly normal, happy people… I suppose the hostility really did die with their patriarch._ For a moment, she allowed herself to feel somewhat guilty for doubting that. She'd allowed her bitterness about the whole affair to taint her preconceptions of them, only to find that, now she'd met them, Zelda liked the siblings far more than she had anyone else for quite a while; the were refreshing, and real.

They were her kind of people.

"Well, to be honest, I'm useless with saddling a horse as well." The Princess offered, "Not that anyone would give me an opportunity to learn, with the stable hands trying to do everything for me… But really, I've always hated seeing a horse saddled, anyway." She grimaced lightly.

Link's eyes lit up then, focusing on the Royal. "I know, right? Nothing better than watching them out in the fields, untouched. I hate when we have to go out and wrangle them up… I've broken in a lot of horses, but I don't think I'll ever like doing it." He scuffed at the carpet with his shoe some, as Malinna gave him a sympathetic glance.

"Link here's a bit of an animal lover." His sister added for good measure, "He looks all rough and tumble when he fights, but he's just a big old softie on the inside… Aren't you, Fairy boy?" She laughed, flicking her fiery fringe as she did.

"Fairy boy? How cute." Zelda giggled, poking her tongue out lightly. Malinna laughed with her, as it became something of a joke.

Though Link looked somewhat bashful at the nickname being used in front of others, Zelda was now focused upon him with an odd twinkle in her eye. Ganondorf didn't miss it either—That fondness, the immediate sense of connection.

Gods forbid Link tried a quiche only to prattle on about an obsession with eggs and cuccos as well—with his luck, that'd be just the case. The Princess would be enthralled with him then, and the Gerudo could easily predict an hour or so of conversation sparked from that would see them become good friends very quickly…

Enough to know that Link wasn't the sort to kill or hold dark intent.

Clearing his throat, Ganondorf sought to end this before it began. "Rough and tumble indeed… I was actually hoping to call you out to the Gardens, boy." He stated clearly, with a tone that implied he'd drag him out there if he had to. "Given your new occupation, I've a few questions to put to you."

Link blinked, distracted from the others with a spark of interest. "Questions?" He repeated, seeming to think about it. "…Well, alright… I didn't know there was a job interview as well, but… Just the two of us, or?" He cocked a brow.

Ganondorf shook his head lightly, forcing a friendly sort of smile. "The girls may join us. It's not official, boy, just my way of… getting to know you, if you'll indulge my quirks. I'm nothing if not slightly overprotective and cautious, what with the variety of people in this castle... Given you're set to take a strong position here, and your understanding of my reasons to be so… pedantic, I'm sure this request isn't too brazen?" He challenged subtly, making sure Link understood that his family's history with Talleday played into this.

Link's lips pulled thin at the undertone, but knew that it was not a shot at his honour in any way. Slowly he nodded, glancing at Zelda before looking up at the Shiekah. "No, that's fine… I get it. We'll follow you, seeing we don't know this place like you do."

Malinna couldn't help but glance between the two men, not really understanding the gravity of what they were arranging, and fell back on the Princess' lead; her serene and content expression didn't bear any ill of this. Her toes curled some in the sandaled heels, and out of habit, the redhead latched onto Link's arm with a jovial manner.

The disguised Gerudo gave a brief scan to his surrounds before nodding, and gesturing for the group to move. Turning, he smiled at the Princess, taking a slow gait and allowing her to keep pace beside him as they headed for the vestibule.

As they walked, Link limping only slightly as Malinna tugged at his arm, the boy couldn't help but note the other pair's movements. The Princess walked with a different way than the others of higher class—her movements were fluid, graceful though unrestricted by forced poise. If he didn't know better, his first impression would be that she was trained for fast paced melee combat, with a heavy focus on momentum.

_That's odd, _he thought to himself, watching the ringlets of her hair bounce, _come to think of it… His movements are similar, but more like a thief than an assassin…_Steely eyes switched to the Shiekah, his habit of analyzing others kicking in before he realized. It seemed strange to him that the actual Shiekah, whose fighting style he'd come to understand was one of unbroken movements and reversal of force upon the opponent in melee terms, did not move quite as the Princess did.

Instead, the tall man held a large and overly muscular frame, whereas such a combat style usually produced a lithe build, not unlike his own; Link had, in recent years, taken inspiration from such styles himself. Sheik's movements were light, to be sure, and deceptively so for his size, but his build suggested the use of brute force and blunt, sharp movements as opposed to a fluid and continuous one.

He had noted, however, that the man's hands seemed to seek constant movement, and were prone to idle flexing—both of them, in fact, which made it difficult to guess which of them was his preferred. It was likely that he would wield dual weapons, though the sculpture of his arms suggested they would not be the subtle blades like knives, but rather, heavier ones, such as short swords or perhaps even variations of saber and cutlass. He also didn't doubt the fact that the man could easily take a claymore in a single hand, if he so chose.

Link couldn't tell if the Shiekah was an archer in any respect, though the curiosity occurred to him; Sheik's fingers were bandaged to cover any callous that may give him a clue.

And among all of these traits he recognized, there were subtle ones he couldn't place at all, and some almost reminiscent of a magic user—it seemed the more Link found, the less he was able to ascertain. Zelda's attendant seemed such a mix of styles and tells that two things were entirely possible. Either the man far outclassed him over years of mixed combat experience and a mastery of technique, or the Shiekah people themselves had only allowed a small fraction of their combat style to be documented.

The night air had grown chilled, and their breath fogged out before them in rolling clouds as the group stepped through the iron doors. The fireflies gathered from dusk had departed, leaving only a few stragglers behind; though the moon was full, the gardens were dark, shadows cast from sculpture and hedging to claw around them. Any sound that drifted from indoors lost almost all of its volume to be swallowed by the stillness.

As they walked through the hedge maze, a labyrinth of shade and greenery, Malinna's eyes grew hazed with some confusion, turning autonomously to the stars for a sense of place. Link however, seemed to track their position accurately enough, memorizing each turn until finally, they emerged within a clearing sporting a marble bench and part of the southern wall. Rosebushes climbed the stone, and the grass was neatly tended.

Zelda seemed quite at home here, a look of contentment on her face by the feel of soft grass beneath her feet, and hitching her skirts a moment, came to sit on the bench with ease. Finally, she was away from the fuss of the evening, if only for a small while. She sent the ranchers a smile, patting the marble softly in gesture for Malinna to join her, and the red head followed suit though her attention was focused primarily upon the roses.

"This is so pretty… I can't even imagine having a garden like this." She mused dreamily, leaning into her hand and glancing at the Princess. "You're very lucky, to live in a palace with all these little worlds in it. Maybe now that things are coming around, I'll hire on new hands and start up a garden myself in free time." Malinna laughed lightly, though it was clear how badly she wished for such a thing.

"You've got the greenest thumbs in the land." Link nodded to her, gesturing negligently to the feature plant. "You'll have roses to match these in no time." Though it was a faint smile, it caught Zelda with a charm. Malinna gave a wistful sort of sigh, the tiniest grimace suggesting she didn't recognize her own talents.

Ganondorf cast a somewhat spiteful glance toward the crimson flowers, unseen by the others, but corrected it before he spoke. "…A lovely sentiment, perhaps, but this section of the Gardens was once the pride and joy of the Late Queen. So, I would impose upon you that we try not to damage any of our surrounds, boy." A pointed glance was given to Link, a slight smirk betraying intent.

The boy turned, a twitch to his brow asking a silent question before his handsome features set, understanding what was implied. His mouth seemed to stretch into a fleeting hint of amusement before a wry look overcame him, and hands moved to undo and remove his vest.

"So you do ask questions with your fists. Figures…" He grimaced, tossing the garment aside to lie upon the grass. Rolling up his sleeves, he sent Malinna a glance, noting her apprehension—she still wasn't quite used to seeing him fight, though she'd long accepted it, and always gave support. She softened some seeing the reassurance in his eyes, and swiftly they turned to the Princess.

Before all of them, something in her had changed. The friendly sparkle of warmth he'd seen when she introduced herself had gone now to be replaced by a catlike attentiveness. Her serene features were hardened suddenly, seriousness to them and an eagerness he couldn't place. Expectantly she seemed to study him, though when finally her eyes met his, she realized his attention and turned her glance to the Shiekah.

Link's own eyes followed suit, seeing the crimson glint caught by moonlight on the face of his new opponent; intrigue and something of a conviction in them. He could see the layers of muscle tense and ripple in preparation, and the boy felt an odd trepidation suddenly. Isolated, singled out; not unlike the realization that he had actually come across a pack of real wolves, circling and stalking their prey. He was no longer the hunter here. Swallowing the feeling, it dawned on him that this was likely due to the events of the tourney, coupled with the unease of sparring on an injury.

And so it was discarded as once again, Link's shields were raised for combat.

Ganondorf watched the boy prepare in silence, before raising a hand to beckon they begin. "The best way to know a man is to fight them, I'm sure you'll agree… do yourself a favor, boy. Do not hold back." He rasped, the points of his canines biting into the words viciously. "Due to your injury, the first shot is yours. Make it count."

With little more than a nod, Link sprang from his position to close in on the Shiekah fast, ignoring the ache of protest in his leg. Steeled eyes worked their way over the other, in habit of looking for an opening, but the man made no move of defense. Taken aback, Link defaulted to the most effective opening he could think of—if he could get a good torso shot in, he may wind Sheik and if not, bruise some crucial muscle.

His body lowered some as the full force of his momentum was poured into his arm as it was pulled close to the chest, Link's elbow driving forward to embed itself just below sternum. A heavy grunt was given by both combatants, though there they met their first standstill. As Link stood there in position, staring at the point where his blow had connected, a slight horror swept over him—Sheik hadn't moved at all, not to flinch or wince, or lose his breath. It was as if he were made of stone, and to the boy's amazement, a faint pain shot up his arm as the bone was shunted.

Link's first blow had not only held no effect, but been counterproductive.

"…Interesting choice." Ganondorf mused as he glared down at the boy, not allowing the strain of his tensing muscles to show upon his weathered features—It was indeed a good strike, and a light ache was produced from it, but Link would see none of it. A large hand then came to grip the boy's wrist while he was still caught by surprise. "But your one shot is gone now."

Link's eyes widened some as the Shiekah pulled his wrist with a massive amount of force and an iron grip; though he tugged his arm back in time enough to escape from any normal opponent, he had no such luck here. The other man's grip would not break against such a feeble attempt, and as the boy's body followed to send him stumbling to the side, Link realized that Sheik's strength was far beyond what he'd guessed given his size. It was almost… on terms with a Goron's… perhaps even more.

As soon as he'd caught his footing, the boy spun to take up a defensive position, his arms raised before him to block. Sheik simply stood where he had before though, only turning to face him—he hadn't capitalized at all on Link's back being turned, or used the time in which he was off balance to approach. Almost as if he though nothing of letting such otherwise precious opportunities pass him by.

_I'll need to be more precise…If I stay in close quarters for long he'll overpower me…_The rancher's mind worked it over as his stance shifted slightly, _I'll rush him and feint; under his arm as he blocks, round the left side, kick out his knee and deliver two handed blow to back of neck._

The disguised Gerudo watched the boy's face grow cold and hardened as it had during the day, and curiosity got the better of him. He flexed his hand purposefully, as if mentally running through the process of using that hand—to his amusement, Link's eyes sharply tracked the small movement, and his knee twitched reflexively as if instinct had told him to move, though he defied it. Ganondorf remembered how Link had fought, using move sets that did not change; continuous assaults, carefully planned based on his assessment of whom he fought.

…_If he expects to fight a Shiekah, _he thought grimly, _then perhaps it's best I save that for last_. _I may confuse him if I cycle through Gerudo and Hylian styles. _He stifled a chuckle as he watched the boy tick, sparing a glance at the girls—Malinna looked as surprised as Link likely felt. Zelda's face was calm, though her fingers were active, plucking away at the fabric on her lap. She would enjoy this as much as he.

Movement caught crimson eyes as Link moved again; quick on his feet and intent in the movements as one of his arms was pulled back in a similar fashion to before. Ganondorf's mouth twitched some, knowing the boy had a plan and annoyed that he couldn't know what it might be. A low growl escaped the disguised Gerudo's throat as Link readied to strike, though a thought occurred to him as he prepared to block—his block was instinctual, and the boy used his opponent's instincts against them. Forcing himself into an opposite direction, Ganondorf's foot kicked off of the grass as he pulled his mass to one side, just in time to see Link's punch become a feint.

The rancher faltered for the briefest instant as the Shiekah dodged, surprised that he did not block given the force at which he was approached. His eyes widened some as his boot hit the grass, twisting autonomously to correct himself and face the taller man; he had no plan now, but no time to stop. Pivoting, Link brought his injured leg around into a low kick, not wasting his momentum.

Ganondorf's knee met the brunt of the rancher's shin, and seeing Link's shoulder twitch, made sure he was first to connect. A heavy hand swung from across his chest as he righted himself, the sideways movement of it seeking Link's cheek with malice—the back of the disguised Gerudo's hand cracked knuckles as it connected with the boy's jaw in a powerful backhand, shorting out the other mid-punch. But as Link's head twisted to the side, his body following it as he was sent careening to the side, his failed punch was salvaged and his arm continued to extend; scratching the side of Ganondorf's ear and face, a finger luckily catching his eye.

The men broke apart then, the Shiekah jumping back as he recoiled and Link hitting the ground in a roll to shakily spring back up, unsteady for a moment. It was clear from the grimace of discomfort the boy had aggravated his injury already, costing him speed and stable footing. Malinna had gasped at the conflict, sitting bolt upright as Zelda's attendant had brutally struck Link's face—she was no expert, but the rules of engagement usually put that as foul play, didn't it? Worse yet, Link hadn't even hesitated in doing the same. His punch may not have landed, but that didn't stop him converting it into a last ditch claw at Sheik's cheek.

"Hey!" She called, shock and irritation on her face, "I though this was a friendly fight—" Zelda's hand gripped her shoulder to silence her, and as the red head sent her a hopeless look, the Princess shook her head. Malinna sighed, knowing that the two males had a different idea of doing things, and anything went to 'truly know' each other.

Zelda offered her a small smile, her grip easing to become a light pat before returning to her lap. "Boys will be boys… If it wasn't friendly, there would've been blood in the first blows." She whispered softly, and the ranching woman nodded reluctantly, resolving to keep quiet for now.

But despite the reassurance between the two young women, things were far from friendly as Link and Ganondorf simply stared at each other a moment, both gritting their teeth.

Link's ears were ringing, pain throbbing through his jaw and blood upon his tongue—a tooth had been knocked loose in that, and leg burned with stitches threatening to rip if he tried that again. Despite the fact that death wasn't a possibility, it was clearly evident that this was very serious. There was no care for injury, or reservation in causing it. But then, Sheik had warned him not to hold back. He twisted his head to the side, spitting discreetly to rid his mouth of blood; he only hoped the events of earlier didn't repeat themselves. The last thing he needed was hallucinations and weird urges against the Princess' attendant while he was assessing him.

But on the other hand, if he didn't tap into that extra potential, he may end up severely beaten—at this point, the boy really couldn't decide which he preferred.

The disguised Gerudo, on the other hand, was seething. The wretched brat had gotten a shot in on his face so early in the piece, and though it was merely a scratch, the sting of his left eye only whipped up long reserved rage. His ear burned where the skin had been scraped, and now, the blurring of water in the assaulted eye reduced his vision to half, his left side a mess of distorted silhouettes. Even so young, and unarmed, this incarnation was impressive, and didn't mess around.

Audience aside, Ganondorf allowed his façade to begin slipping then, no longer content to observe Link's fighting style closely, as he'd earlier intended before drawing it to a satisfying close. No, he was going to hurt him; let this pitiful 'hero' know that not only was he superior, but that the boy's very life depended solely on his whim which, fortunately, sided with the bigger picture of obtaining Courage.

His plan to cycle through styles was all but abandoned as the Gerudo set out for blood, Power pulsing to life within him, called out the dark desire for Link's suffering. Though it was a restricted power, and severely limited, whatever he could access at this proximity to the other parts was, unlike Link's, perfectly under his control.

"You're very quick…" Ganondorf spat, eyeing the boy with a horrible leer, the corner of his mouth peaking in spite. "Even with that injury… But you can't outrun your shadow."

_Let's see how well you fare when you can't stand, _he thought cruelly.

Link's head cocked back in some panic, steeled eyes flitting about himself frantically in confusion. "My… shadow?" He stammered, clenching fists tightly. What the hell was that supposed to mean? But as the Shiekah gave a gesture of his hand, almost negligent in the movement, the boy soon felt how literal it had been.

From behind, an unknown force pulled at his leg, tearing it out from under him to send Link's face into the ground with a painful thud, reaffirming the pain in his jaw. Shocked he looked to his feet, seeing nothing but the shadows behind him, cast by the hedging. A sudden urge told him to scramble forward and out of them, but as his fingers clawed at the grass in his crawl, another sharp tug sent pain winding up his leg—as if something had literally punched his wound.

Crying out reflexively, Link winced, forcing himself to keep moving though he was pulled roughly backward; wherever shadow touched his skin, it felt like a thousand pin pricks, burning with an itch and a sense of claustrophobia. He could feel it focusing upon his legs, overwhelming in the sensation and making it almost impossible to stand—they buckled and trembled, twitching under the assault as the pinpricks slowly became heavier. The boy struggled, managing to fight the metaphysical force enough to come upon all fours—as he did so, the strain on Sheik's face, which was twisted with concentration, became evident. It seemed the more Link fought against it, the harder it became for the other to continue. But more than that, as Link looked up, skin stinging and becoming red with irritation, he saw that the man's eyes were closed.

_That must be the catch! To manipulate shadow, he has to give up his sight! _But no sooner did link make this realization did a powerful blow to the back of his leg send a shock of urgency though him.

"Ugh!" He recoiled, palm pressed to the ground to stabilize himself as his face contorted into one of discomfort and frustration. If this kept up, he'd be crippled—again and again, small though sharp blows, like stabbing knives, drove into his legs. Link's fingers dug into the dirt, catching it under his nails, as it seemed he couldn't break free of the assault by struggle alone.

_I should've guessed he was a magic user, that explains the twitching hands,_ his mind chastised, trying to block out the pain; _I can't top that without range! Damn it all, if I had a bow or a knife, I could—_

His eyes shot wide with epiphany. A projectile… If it hit him, he may open his eyes… better yet, he couldn't see, so he must be relying on feeling for location. Turning a desperate gaze to the ground, Link fumbled, his hands roaming the dark of the shadows before him, blindly, until the side of his hand knocked what he'd been searching for. Grabbing it up quickly, he fought, straining himself to stand upon his knees, and with the precision to make any true Shiekah proud, a stone was thrown at great speed to hurtle toward the other.

Ganondorf could indeed feel the boy's movements through the shadows as his fingers tugged the invisible strings of his puppets, and froze when he felt it—he couldn't see what it was, how heavy, what kind of threat it may be. What he felt, however, was reminiscent of his early training with Zelda. Something he knew all too well to be a knife thrown.

_Shit, he was armed…? _Rushed through a hazed mind and he knew that he could not risk being struck. It would make sense that the boy might keep a blade on him at all times, given his occupation. As the stone hurtled toward him, the Gerudo had no choice but to assume the worst and the bonds were released; side stepping to dodge, crimson eyes opened, his tether broken by the forced movement and break in concentration. Link wasted no time springing from the shadow and back out into the moonlit clearing, stumbling to his feet weakly and catching his breath to recover—and it was then Ganondorf painfully realized the boy had inadvertently fooled him.

It was only a stone. For a rock, a _pebble_, he'd allowed a precious advantage to be wasted. In his panic to avoid the 'knife' as well, he'd let slip that fleeting glimpse of Power spurring the borrowed spell. Now the boy was free; still able to stand, no less. His gaze slowly turned to the fatigued rancher, and in the heat of his inner humiliation, Ganondorf's anger won over the last remnant of any strategy or acting he'd been so careful to keep.

With malice, the large man lunged, a beastly growl tearing from his lips as the boy's eyes grew wide at the speed. Link's arms rose to block, his feet spreading in an attempt to brace himself, though between the damage done to his legs, his still shattered equilibrium and Sheik's weight, he knew this wouldn't do much. A direct and heavy punch connected with Link's forearms, the rippling muscle of the Shiekah's arm bulging with the force of it, driving the rancher's block inward. With bone shattering strength, Link's arms buckled beneath the large fist, slamming against his chest as he was thrown backwards off his feet.

A pained gasp sounded loud enough for all in company to hear as the boy hit the grass some two meters behind were he'd stood, driving what little wind was left from him. Though he'd started with the cold façade usually kept in battle, it was evident upon his features now; Link was losing, and he simply couldn't keep this up. His arms shook and trembled in shock of the blow, but the steady thump of boots coming up fast alerted the boy to move before he'd even opened his eyes.

Forcing himself to roll to the side, dirt came to hit his face and be caught in his blonde hair as the Shiekah's fist embedded itself where his head had been…

A blow that could easily have cracked his skull clean open.

A jolt of adrenaline kicked in and spurred Link onto all fours, moving quickly to see the larger man staring at him with a piercing, one eyed glare. Within his muscles, fleeting though powerful, he felt it again—the strange flood of energy as it ran through his body, taking away his pain temporarily and forcing him to move.

Courage had sprung to life once again.

Link's shoes dug into the grass as he pounced to tackle Sheik from the side, knocking him down with an indomitable determination. As the energy burned through his veins, Link could feel himself hit the other man's side with three times the strength he would have been able to normally, and it shocked him slightly, though he couldn't afford to be distracted by it again.

Before Ganondorf could counter it or pull his fist from the earth, the boy was on top of him, a sneer and a yell as he was toppled by an unexpected amount of strength. The feeling of a raw strike to the side of his face was the next to come; Link's knuckles twisted into the flesh beside his good eye, crunching into the bone and bruising muscle, skin breaking into tiny, crescent-like cuts beneath the sheer viciousness of it. It was a clear attempt at damaging his vision further, thankfully missed in the struggle. The disguised Gerudo growled, baring his teeth fiercely like an animal cornered, and in the time it took for Link to rear his arm back to correct his mistake, Ganondorf's hand lurched forward to grab the front of the boy's white shirt, fingers tightening dangerously.

Sitting up as he did so, a merciless forward motion coupled with the sharp tug of Link's collar, Ganondorf drew the boy forward into a blinding head butt, smashing his nose and forehead. Link's face contorted in pain as the flesh split around the bridge of his nose, the cartilage shifting with a slight crack as it was abused, sight stolen to his eyes shutting tight in a wince. The boy's movements stilled as his second punch was aborted, the hand seeking his face as blood rolled from his nostrils and the cut. In that instant, he was thrown back as a solid strike hit his chest, and the small of his back soon met grass again. Unable to see beyond the stars in his vision and the pain behind his eyes, or hear clearly as ears whined with a high pitch, Link lost track of his opponent and resorted to kicking out blindly.

As Ganondorf moved from his position on the ground to reverse the situation, caging Link under his hulking form with an intent to pin him, an unexpected boot caught his brow, splitting it cleanly as the sting of dirt mixed with fresh blood. Rivulets of it dripping down over his scratched eye, his hand lunged forward to catch Link's throat in a vice-like grip, his breath seethed through clenched teeth. Everything around him seemed to vanish from his mind as he stared down at the boy beneath, gasping and writhing as his hands clawed at the Gerudo's wrist, steely eyes fluttering to stare up through blurred vision.

_Just a few moments, _his mind screamed, twisted by the sanguine call of Power as it flared in response to contact with Courage, _a few moments more and he'd stop breathing. _A flex of his hand to crush vocal chords and clamp down on arteries… more pressure and a firm jerk could very well snap the feeble spine at the back of his neck. He'd be free of the 'Hero' in this cycle for good. He could kill the boy… yes, kill him now and be done with it… see the life—the fight—fade from those blue eyes to turn grey, utterly defeated and spiritless.

He could feel Courage flaring violently, pain shooting up his arm from where the boy clutched his wrist in protest, a newfound and chaotic strength refusing to let go or give up. To see it amount to nothing… To see those determined hands fall limp, useless, would be a beautiful sight.

These thoughts rushed through his raging mind as everything seemed to hit a critical point, his open eye flashing with that terrible, golden hue as the points of his canines bared down. Did he really need Courage? Or could he make do with Power and Wisdom?

No, he couldn't… The King had to die, and Link was his only option for allowing that to happen. As tempting as it may have been, fate snatched away his opportunity before the fight had begun. Malinna and Zelda could not watch Link die without repercussion; to kill this pathetic brat now may mean to sacrifice the throne later, and he still needed his cover, if only for a little longer.

As his Piece resonated, it only solidified this need, driving the beast within back into its cage. Courage was too important to let go for a petty kill, spurred by anger. Ganondorf would have his time, but it wasn't now. A sharp and horrible feeling of helplessness overcame him, settling in the pit of his gut, as the Gerudo resolved that, once again, his temper would be his undoing if he allowed it to get the better of him. His fingers twitched, loosening, as slowly he began to release the boy's throat.

But through the air, cutting the stillness and the silence like a knife, Zelda's voice rang clear. "Sheik, I've seen enough. I'm more than satisfied in his abilities. Let him be."

The Gerudo's blood ran cold, iced over by the tone—like a master calling off its dog. His good eye widened, realizing his position, and the gold faded completely as Link coughed with some relief. Ignoring the boy now as his hand fell to his side limply, Ganondorf's attention drifted slowly, wild with human fury, toward Zelda.

The Princess stood now, Malinna behind with a look of concern on her features for her brother. Zelda's arms were crossed lightly, a cool look of satisfaction on her serene face, crystalline eyes glinting in the moonlight. An almost unperceivable curve to her lips as she affixed her gaze upon her secret lover, something haughty in them, as if he'd done it all for her. Such was the belief he'd allowed her after all, but Ganondorf's mind replayed her voice even as he slowly came to stand.

Like she owned _him_; could order _him_ about. And in that instant, an old hatred for the girl came back with a vengeance, his teeth clenching with enough force to crack enamel. He could feel the blood trickling down his cheek and neck, a streak of heat across his flesh, and Ganondorf realized then how much he'd allowed himself to slip—these years of the high life, taking it easy in this castle, so far from his desert home and the trials of survival. The Gerudo King had been spoilt here, grown lazy and lost his edge, unchallenged… And now it seemed, Zelda thought herself his equal, perhaps even a superior. Even in his rouse, this should never be so; he knew what was best for her, and she would do as he told.

Not the other way around.

_I'll have to fix that before it becomes problematic, _he decided, settling his visible outrage. _I think I'll start that now, in fact._

Turning some, he extended a hand down to Link, who'd pulled himself into a sitting position to cough and wipe the blood from his face. The boy stared at the hand, blinking some. For the briefest of moments, Link gave a glare, somewhat indignant, until he seemingly remembered that their fight was a friendly one. Immediately his cold eyes regained a softness, as if his mind worked differently when in battle, only able to process victory and loss; ally and opponent. Slowly, his handsome features settled into the faintest ghost of a smile, and he took the Shiekah's hand, allowing himself to be pulled to shaky feet.

Ganondorf forced his face into one of approval, though with his current mood, it perhaps looked like an expression of reluctant acknowledgement, a strange mix of bitterness and respect.

"You did better than I expected of you, boy. Forgive my harshness… I had to know how you would react if faced with killing intent." He lied, as pleasantly as was possible, effort put into unlocking his jaw. He knew he'd gone too far, but it seemed even he was not a skilled enough actor as to completely forget the past. Hopefully, this brutal though justified reasoning may sway the present company away from noticing the malevolence he'd let slip.

Link held a hand to his nose, his voice muffled some by the state of it, and he wobbled slightly on his feet. "You… really… didn't pull any punches…" He mused, sounding a bit more sarcastic than he'd liked. Blood dripped freely, trickling between his fingers and staining his shirt. "For a second there, I thought you… might actually kill me." He laughed weakly.

The disguised Gerudo grimaced, likewise holding a hand to stem the blood flow from his eyebrow. He looked away from Link, hiding as much of his darkening expression as he could in the dim light. "…I would've preferred our fight to last longer, however." He scoffed acrimoniously, as Malinna quickly bounded over to Link with Zelda trailing gracefully behind.

"Link! Damn it, you got blood all over the top of your shirt! …And grass stains too, ugh…" She sighed, her concern for Link hidden thinly by her nitpicking over clothes. "Do you have any idea how bad this'll be for me to clean, huh?"

The red headed woman immediately began to fuss, much to Link's embarrassment, though Zelda chimed in with a saccharine smile, standing close to her attendant and watching the ranchers interact once again.

"There was no need for it to last longer. You tested his skills and found him worthy of the position, have you not? Besides which… you had him pinned. That's a victory, Sheik, unfortunately for our Champion." She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, speaking mostly to the Shiekah. As her head tilted to the side, a playful look was sent to the silver haired man, but he didn't return it.

Glaring down at the Princess, Ganondorf allowed his cruelty to shine though, his eyes burning into hers with an inflexible resentment. "Unfortunate for you as well, Zelda." He growled low, "He is indeed more than capable of becoming a captain, despite his age, but he is your superior in combat."

The Princess stared up at him, her mouth agape slightly as she stuttered. "E-Excuse me?" She could hardly believe her ears; he wasn't really going to tell her this now was he?

"You heard me, Zelda. You may not spar with him… You are too weak and he outclasses you." He spat bitterly, drinking deep of the look of shock and hurt flashing across her face.

Zelda's heart felt as if it'd cracked when the words left his lips, a sinking feeling consuming her; Sheik may have been correct, but… he never insulted her. And perhaps, technically, he hadn't, but the way he'd said it, the look he'd given her… it stung like an insult—and she could easily tell, he'd intended it to. He had always encouraged her, supported her. Now, in this moment, he'd slammed her down in front of others, as if trying to humiliate her.

Not only that, he'd compromised their secret training by telling complete strangers.

Crystalline eyes turned to Link, critical with some panic and embarrassment in them. There was no mistaking it; the rancher's brow was twitching with confusion and surprise, his steely eyes flashing with intrigue and surprise. He hadn't registered this seriously. At his side, Malinna stared at the Princess with a similar confusion, doubtful of the fact that Zelda could fight as her brother did, something akin to pity about the look she gave—as if Zelda's wish to fight Link were simply a spoilt demand by a girl who'd thrown one punch and decided she was a warrior.

"You… wanted to fight me…?" Link asked, his face blank as he blinked with a vacant expression.

It was hard to imagine that the lovely Zelda would want to fight anyone seriously; she simply didn't look like the type to even approve of violence, let alone engage in it. In fact, despite the fact that Link had picked up on the possibility that she'd been trained earlier, to have it confirmed made him a bit concerned; the thought of Zelda being hit or hurt in any manner unsettled the boy greatly. He didn't know her, and true, he held no connection to her… perhaps it was his protective nature of the people around him, women in particular, but for some reason the boy could feel the same level of concern he might've if Malinna had been the subject of secret training.

"Why would a Princess… ever need to fight… for anything?" He whispered, more to himself, but knew Zelda had heard it as well.

Before she could reply, ears twitching, her attendant spoke for her. "She saw you and decided you'd be an ideal opponent… But after fighting you myself, I can see very plainly…" He gave a pointed glance to the girl, his words sharp. "…She'd only end up getting hurt."

Link flinched at this, though it was directed at Zelda—Had Sheik noticed his reactions to the strange energy in battle? Then again, he'd watched the fight with Badon… perhaps he was perfectly aware of it, and that's what this was about… seeing if he held the same breaking point in any conflict. The rancher sighed slightly, knowing that in that case, Sheik was right to test it. If for whatever reason this new… power was going to flare up and take him over in points of hazard, how could anybody be certain Link wasn't a danger to others? It would mean he couldn't even spar with anyone unless they were his superior and able to fend him off, lest he gravely injure or—as he almost had with Valenzuela—kill them.

And if that were true, then Sheik was right to bar Zelda from engaging him in future.

Malinna softened some then, trying to ease this new tension before it soured everything and, Gods forbid, caused another fight. "Hey, it's ok, you know… Even if you became stronger than all of us, Link doesn't fight women, anyway…" She offered, but when she received an icy look from Zelda, the red head flinched and returned to fussing over Link instead. "We should go get you cleaned up, too…" She said quietly.

The boy nodded, running a hand through his bangs as his sister dabbed at his nose with a handkerchief. "I know the way back…" He glanced to the Royal and her attendant, grimacing lightly. "We'll… uh…just excuse ourselves… you seem like you have… things to discuss…" Link gave a considerate sort of look, but it thinly veiled evident fatigue.

Zelda peered at the ground, her mouth pulled into a thin line as her hurt was swiftly turning into anger. She nodded, straining not to snap at them—Link was right, her issue here was with Sheik, after all.

"Yes… Ask one of the serving girls to fetch you a replacement shirt. My Father will be requesting your company toward the end of the Gala. Be presentable." She bit out rigidly, her fingers twisting into the sides of her dress, causing the fabric to shimmer in the moonlight.

Ganondorf drew his hand away from his brow with a heavy, irritated sigh, crossing his arms with a grunt of ascent and giving a small incline of his head. The ranchers' leaving was a very good idea, given what he may do to the Princess within a few moments if she didn't change her attitude immediately.

Malinna gave a final smile as she entwined her arm in Link's, pulling him along. "It was nice meeting you…" She called happily, though was quick turn away. If Link really was going to meet the King shortly, she had a lot of work to do making him look… well, as if he hadn't just fought a Shiekah.

Link looked over his shoulder as his sister walked him back into the maze, struggling against the threat of his legs giving out under him; there was something about those two he noticed now that he never could've before… he couldn't put his finger on it, but it worried him. Almost like there were other sides of the pair entirely, in direct contrast to their pleasantness.

He'd felt it when he had fought, Sheik was not one to think anything of causing harm or even killing, despite his role as a protector. The man had great restraint and obviously, he was a good guy if not a bit blunt, but behind that was a myriad of terrible fates to be handed out, if he so chose.

And Zelda was a bit of a mystery—she seemed so lovely, a friendly and warm individual, a lot like him in many ways. But also like him, able to become cold and harden herself to what was happening around her, detached. But just by her reaction when Sheik had told her she wouldn't be fighting whom she wished, he could also see that she could be prideful and strong willed enough to defy anyone, no matter who it was; _Like Sheik or even the King himself, _he thought.

Still, as the two of them disappeared to be separated by the hedging, Link's concerns faded some. Sheik wouldn't hurt Zelda, he was the reason she didn't find herself in harms way in the first place. Shaking his head, he decided to stop thinking for the rest of the evening.

Thinking was taking too much energy and getting him nowhere… and his bodily aches were getting hard to ignore now. He just needed to rest.

When Zelda was confident the ranchers were out of earshot, the scowl she gave to her attendant was fierce enough to make even Talleday step back and hold his tongue, were he alive. Her hands balled into fists, straining the silken material of her dress and making thick creases as they shook lightly.

"How dare you!" She hissed, crystalline eyes wide with vindication. "You could've waited until now to tell me that! Are you trying to embarrass me, or are you just bitter that he put up a better fight than you expected?"

It came so swiftly, she never saw it coming; not even her training could've prepared her for it, and coming from her attendant, Zelda had no hope of predicting it. The world moved sideward in a hazed blur, the shadows cast about the garden fooling her mind into thinking she'd gone temporarily blind as she fell, ears ringing. Her side connected with something firm, and as slowly sensation returned, she could feel the grass bend beneath her cheek. The pain had not come yet, in her shock, but the pressure of where the blow had landed was proof enough that it had happened. Her vision cleared and looking up, there was no doubt, the Shiekah holding his hand to the side of where her head had been.

He'd struck her down.

He glared down at her crumpled form without a hint of regret or pity, the fond warmth gone from his eyes. A moment passed, the silence palpable as Zelda could only stare up at him with glassed eyes and mouth slightly agape, a hand unconsciously coming to her cheek.

"If you want to fight me, Zelda, then I will allow you that… I will beat you within an inch of your life, and bring you back from the brink as many times as I feel I need to until you understand that you are not as capable as you think." He whispered, the timbre of his rich voice chilling. "But you will not be fighting the boy. If you fought him, you would be killed. I cannot allow this." He lied.

Zelda tried to speak, but choked upon the words as tears threatened to spill for the first time since she'd sworn against them. "I-I… Don't want… N-no…" She shook her head weakly, looking down to her trembling hands.

Ganondorf bent down, taking a knee and tilting her head up to endure eye contact, his gaze grizzled against the damage he'd taken. "You were wrong, Zelda…" He spoke quietly, though forcefully. "I am not the best teacher you've had. Clearly, I cannot break this emotional drive you have behind all of your endeavors. Did you not see?"

She watched his brow rise, ignoring the cut, and bit her lip as she found she'd not grasped his meaning. Blinking back the prickle of tears, a sob hitched in her throat as she stared into his eyes, seeing the golden glint—cold and unmoving, like a man about to slit another's throat clean.

When she did not answer, he simply continued. "Link does not fight with his emotion. Unstable things that they are… and yet, the instant he lets one through the cracks… he becomes a killer…" He reiterated slowly, sharp teeth forming the words into a snake like hiss, venomous. "A natural, born killer, just like that Uncle of his… And only a killer can fight another killer and win."

Zelda flinched as Sheik's face came close, losing any moonlight as his face was bathed with her shadow. "Are you a killer, Zelda? Would you snap a man's neck, or drive the blades I've taught you to wield into their eye, twisting it and watching them scream?"

The Princess froze; all of her movement, involuntary or not, ceasing completely as his words seemed to pierce her very soul. Her eyes widened just a fraction, pupils dilating as the gravity of what he was saying sunk in. She'd not entertained the thought, no… but would she? Was she even capable of such a thing? Never once had she considered the reality that, in fact, she was being trained in the art of death. Sheik himself had killed, and made no secret of that—even his time under the Dark Lord had forced his hand when necessary to kill the odd innocent. How could it not? He was, in every sense, the son of an Assassin clan.

The Shiekah commanded death, defied it, and brought it down upon others. Such was the purpose of their existence; a decider between when death came, and for whom.

A single tear rolled down the side of her face, over the quickly forming bruise, and slowly, Zelda found a steady voice. "…No… I… I wouldn't…" She confessed, a strange shame at her own weakness overriding any pride to be taken from moral standing.

"…I didn't think so." He spat, releasing her chin and standing once more to tower over her. Her head hung in shame beneath his gaze, but as the Gerudo looked down upon her, a strange smile appeared. "But there are two sides to every coin. Zelda may not be able to defeat Link, no… But the Shiekah in you most certainly could."

The girl looked up at him with some surprise, her beautiful eyes wavering up at him with the camber of lunar light shining across her irises. Ganondorf could feel the warmth returning for her, seeing her confidence broken so easily—perhaps he'd overreacted, Zelda was still very much his.

"I cannot deny that the boy is one of the only men I'd see fit as being able to serve as your captain in future… He's excellent, yes, and you deserve nothing less…" He pulled his face into a look of serious concern, easier now that he'd vented his frustration and affirmed Zelda's position under his boot. "But what makes him so effective is also what makes him a danger to you. If one day, for whatever reason, he decided to kill you, you'd have little hope of stopping him and by that time… he may equal even my skill."

It was partly a lie, and part truth—Link did indeed hold the potential to equal the Gerudo, as he always had, though it would not come to pass this time. Regardless, it was just the thing he needed to push Zelda into the next level. And if he played his cards right… the outcome would be beautiful. Letting the Hero live was a risk, but seeing him die was never assured if it were by his hand; Ganondorf knew well of fate's cycles and habits, and the Goddesses had arranged for his killing a Hero to be a hard task passed a certain point.

What they could never account for, was the Princess' attempt on his life instead.

"To ensure your safety… I must enable you to kill freely, should the need arise. But that is your choice…" He trailed off, looking heavenward with a considerate sort of look. "I would never force such a thing upon you. It comes at a grave cost, after all… innocence is hard come by, these days, but then if you give it willingly, you may avoid the pain of it being inevitably stolen." He shrugged, nonchalantly brushing the gravity of such a statement aside.

His crimson gaze quickly returned to her, and in them was a sincere question. "…Do you honestly think that the King of Evil will not kill you, as soon as he has what he requires? I may be strong, Zelda… but even I couldn't stand alone against such darkness. I'd need you to be capable of anything, even murder, if we're to get through it alive and well."

After a moment, it began to sink in, and Zelda's brow furrowed at the thought. Icy pink lips quivered with the want to say so many things, but couldn't settle upon any of them. Her fingers twitched, feeling the grass as if to draw some comfort from it, the sting of her cheek a harsh reminder of her own foolishness. Sheik was right; he'd always been right, and she should never have questioned him so accusingly. He only wanted the best for her.

He loved her, and he would become her King one day. Then he'd ensure not only her happiness and security, but that of the Kingdom as well.

"I…. I'm sorry, Sheik…" She whispered, letting slip a tiny sigh. "…I understand all of that, I do… Don't think I've forgotten what we face…" Sadness etched itself upon her beautiful features, even as she slowly picked herself up from the ground, standing before him with a downward gaze. "But I… Can you just… Let me think about it… for a while? I know this is important, and I haven't really got a choice… but I just want to think it all over before we start… truly facing it."

Ganondorf fought the urge to roll his eyes, playing along as he always did, and urged his hand forward to affectionately brush the cheek he'd struck, gentle, as if remorseful of it. Well, really, what was the harm in allowing her to contemplate the future? It wasn't as if she could change it, now. And so, he allowed himself to nod, training his face to look kindly upon his Princess.

"Of course, Zelda… There is still plenty of time. Think it over as you wish, and I will wait patiently until you are ready." His voice rolled smoothly now, a soothingly deep tone, bereft of the harsh inflection it'd held previously.

She smiled up at him, a small and entirely grateful thing, and a glove hand came to cover his large hand, holding it to her face and nuzzling it ever so slightly. Through the gesture flowed a warm and tingling magic, passed his hand to caress her skin, seeping into it and allowing the evidence of his assault to fade from existence, erased.

"I… I love you… Sheik…" Zelda murmured softly, a slight blush to tint her cheeks as her eyes closed, enjoying the feeling of his hand cupping her face softly.

The disguised Gerudo stared at her a moment, caught in a wonderment, as unseen, a monstrous smile betrayed everything the Princess could never see in him.

"I love you too, my Zelda…" He whispered, so easily did it slip from his silver tongue, his thumb stroking the flesh of her temple. "And I will never let you go."

**A/N:**

**Oh my god, what is this I'm doing to myself.**

**Why, why more fight scenes? I hate them so… But it needed to be done.**

**And personally, I did want a brawl there. It needed to happen. Just a flat out brawl between Link and Ganon; no Triforce or destiny to it, just a good old fashioned punch up.**

**I love it.**

**And also, this resettles some of the things that got tossed up and around a lot over previous chapters, so now that we have thing reshuffled nicely and set back into place, FINALLY I can kill the king. Everything's been said, covered, and nothing should go amiss.**

**Also, next chapter, or in the next two especially, more Skyward Sword connections will crop up. I've staved them off as long as possible without being spoilery, but now I can't postpone them any longer. I did so purely out of respect for those readers who haven't actually played it through yet, but it's been a while, and most people should've had at least one playthrough down at this point.**

**So I will not take any guilt from spoilerific awesome now. Everybody should know about Demise and Ghirahim and all that jazz. **

**And I will take a moment to thank all my reviewers for the epic support, and of course, my consultant HeatherHallucination, because she's been super good whenever I've put ideas and suggestions for where the story is headed to her for opinions.**

**We've now gone officially past the half way point of the story, and I'm currently discussing a spin-off story from this that you will learn more about as it becomes appropriate to tell, so stay tuned and…**

**BE PREPAAAAAAARED! For what? FOR THE DEATH OF THE KING! Why is he sick?**

**No. We're going to kill him.**

**ONWARD TO GLORY!**


	14. Curtain Call

Hyrulians have always been known for their festive natures when such events arose, and though the night had drawn on with a slight chill to the air, neither time nor the cold held any place over the course of the Royal Gala. Though a few had left to retire early, toppled by liquor or having found a person of interest with which to abscond, the massive list of attendees had now dwindled to a more relaxed number and allowed formality to be eased with it. Those that remained now were of high spirits and content to let midnight come as they discarded all thought of the next day, simply contained within this world of class and finery; status divides losing meaning against the draw of food and music to forge new connections and spur comfortable conversation.

Link had, since the sparring match with Zelda's attendant, secluded himself somewhat to bask in the atmosphere, not really engaging anybody in particular—steely eyes tracked the other people with intrigue, documenting habits and reading lips, picking up slivers of conversation and tucking away the smithereens for later interests. It wasn't often he got a chance to people-watch so keenly or in such large numbers. And despite his general apprehension of the upper classes and slight dislike of the socials norms therein, Link found himself fascinated by the sheer amount of tics and quirks these types held habit of performing—broad gestures, flamboyant expressions, cosmetic additives like drawn on eyebrows, puffy wigs and fake moles…

The more he noticed, the more he smiled. For an entire class to take themselves so seriously, and yet, be nothing more than absurd to any outsider found an odd streak of humour in him.

Leaning back in the chair slightly, the rancher allowed his gaze to continue its lazy wanderings, though this time in search of his wayward sister. Malinna had gone to fetch them a drink a full twelve minutes ago, and had not yet returned—the red head was not the kind of woman to be kept waiting or keep others waiting, either. A tiny smirk traced his lips as the memories of his sister's ire over such things returned; the time he'd fallen asleep on the back of the milk cart, forgetting to pick her up from the markets until sundown, or the time he'd overslept on her birthday and gotten down the stairs to find that Tarron had prepared a horrid cake in his stead... which Malinna had thrown at him for his laziness.

Link laughed to himself, shaking his head lightly and scratching his shortly trimmed hair. _I really need to get some kind of alarm clock, _he thought with guilty amusement. He was far too used to the crow of Cuccos to awaken to them at dawn like the others… though, he knew deep down that even an earthquake wouldn't rouse him at that time of the morning.

Glancing to the side, he finally spotted her. It took him a moment to see through the crowd, but the protective sort of frown that crossed Link's face was apparent the moment he noticed the guard she was talking to. Malinna was wearing her best smile, waving her hand about in a very feminine manner… and leaning very close to the man—much too close for the boy's liking. It was pretty clear to him then that she was flirting, because his sister was not one to be 'feminine' in the traditional sense.

"…Great…" Link sighed, bringing his hand to his forehead in a languid motion, his head falling back in exasperation. "Not the white knight thing again…"

Cracking an eye open to peer through his fingers, he took stock of the soldier—a tall man, well built though likely closer to his thirties. He'd removed his helmet, and a neat crop of chestnut brown hair was freed along with the clear glint of brown eyes… he didn't look all that special to Link, but then, the boy didn't know how to gauge the attractiveness of other men and clearly, Malinna was quite taken with him. The rancher clicked his tongue, grimacing slightly as he watched the man in question give her a very charming sort of smile.

"…He's too old for you…" He mused chastisingly to himself, as if his sister might hear it anyway. "…he'll sucker you in with open palm gestures and duchenne smiles, and then you'll find out he's married."

Scoffing quietly to himself, the boy forced his eyes elsewhere, having seen this before and not being in the particular mood for it. Even if it turned out to be genuine, he probably would still object. The thought of Malinna with a man was one of those things he preferred to ignore. Probably just the same as any older brother, but given her unrealistic desires to be swept off her feet by some bright-eyed and chivalrous man of honour, Link felt he had a particular right to be that way. It wasn't exactly as if the world were full of men like that, and the redhead was already the victim of a few disappointing and short-lived romances; the most recent of which he'd actually turned in for a bounty after finding him to be a con artist and thief.

_That'll be the last time I trust Anju's matchmaking, _he thought, crossing his arms in a defensive manner; _Why can't she settle down with somebody that's not all about appearances? Like the Carpenter's son, uh… Grog, that's it. Yeah. _He nodded to himself with a quizzical look. _I mean sure, he's a little shy and a bit of a neat freak, but hey, he's really a nice guy. And he's good with the Cuccos._

But as the crowd shifted again, from his small table in the corner Link's eyes met with a familiar gaze, dark eyes seeming to light up when they spotted him. He blinked, a brow rising as from across the chamber, Ashei came strutting as best she could manage toward him with a heavyset woman beside her—he recognized her from when they delivered goods to the local tavern as a boy, but had forgotten most of those days… Telma, that was her name. The pair dressed as if they'd simply gone to the bar after the tourney, not bothering to impress any here with fancy clothes or gussying up. He squinted some when he remembered how Ashei had been injured, reminded by the broken gait and stilted movements she made.

"Link, there you are!" She called, approaching swiftly though in some discomfort from doing so. "I've been looking for you bloody everywhere… You're pretty hard to find for the man of the hour." Wincing some as she came to a stop, her hand rested on the back of a chair for stability.

Link rose from his seat with some concern, but the warrior waved him away with a grimace. "Look, don't fuss, yeah? I'm alright… It's you I was worried about… Telma told me about your fight."

"…Badon told me about yours…" He sighed, calming a bit as the woman carefully settled into the chair. He gave a small, regretful smile, apologetic. "If I'd have known he was going to try something like that… Sorry, Ashei. I wasn't even there to see it, and I should've been…" he trailed off quietly, slowly coming to reseat himself as well.

"Well, the bastard got what was coming to him. You won, kid, and that's more than I can say…" She smirked lightly, brushing it off, but then a frown swept her blunt features as she took in the state of him. "Shit, he roughed you up a bit…"

Link gave a confused sort of look, brows knitting together as he followed her assessment of his injuries. His hand rose to his face automatically, touching the cut on his nose and the light bruising about his forehead and inner eyes. "What…? Oh. Uh… well, actually…" He stuttered, a sheepish grin forming with a depreciating chuckle. "This happened after the tourney… about an hour ago. Badon got a shot in on my leg, but that's about the worst of it."

Ashei leaned back in her chair incredulous, peering at him strangely and opening her mouth hesitantly to speak, though was interrupted as Telma finally caught up to them through the thick of mingling nobles. The busty barmaid shook her head, beads rattling around dreaded locks, a slight pant noticeable as she pulled a chair from another table with grimace turned to the other woman.

"For somebody who was stabbed, honey, you sure are quick." She breathed, high arched brows raising some in emphasis. Her attention soon turned to Link, however, with a fond sort of smile and a wink. "You must be magnetic to women, pulling us all in like this. It's about time we had a handsome captain again."

As the burly woman folded arms beneath her impressive bust—showing off a notable cleavage to turn the head of any red-blooded male—Link averted his eyes instinctively, the faintest blush tinting his cheeks though it was lost to the bruising some. He still wasn't entirely comfortable with all the sudden feminine attention he was receiving, from the subtle to the obvious. He had never really put any serious thought into flirting before the tourney and didn't intend to now that he was also cursed with celebrity; he simply didn't have the time to consider a relationship, despite a steady enough interest from the other sex. But this particular night, especially when he'd come back in from the gardens to settle down at the table, had shown that he had the unfortunate affect of attracting older women as well… perhaps even more so than the younger ones, which only made things all the more awkward.

Ashei and Zelda had probably been the only two he'd met today who hadn't at the very least, made some sort of flirtatious remark.

Swallowing it down, Link forced a smile and nervously brushed his bangs back. "…So I've been told… But I'm not quite a captain yet." He coughed, steely eyes tracing the wood grain of the table briefly as his mind worked to change the subject, quickly. "…Speaking of Badon, I haven't seen him here tonight. You two wouldn't know how he is, would you?"

"Oh, I'm sure he's off licking his wounds somewhere… He'll probably turn up at my bar, later. Try to drown his humiliations, I'd expect." Telma shrugged, snickering to herself as she fell back into a seat with a lazy motion. "…With a new hat, of course."

"Who cares?" Ashei spat, staring at the others with an affronted look. "He's a bloody cheat and a bastard, and he should be glad he isn't here because if he was, they'd never get the stains out the carpet!" After spitting her poison, she waved an arm to signal a serving girl roughly, cocking her head. "Oi! Drinks here, yeah?"

Link stared blankly at the raven haired warrior for a moment, still acclimatizing to her blunt mannerisms over the poise and gentle refinery he'd been enduring for the night. She may have seemed rude, or overly rough and completely unfeminine, but somehow, this endeared her to him—he was just glad to have real people around again, he supposed. Slowly the corners of his mouth tilted upwards in response to Ashei's attitude; she reminded him of an agitated badger, somewhat, and the mental image imposed itself upon him quickly.

Telma sighed, giving the woman a tired look. "Give her a break, honey, service with a smile is hard enough on a night like this… Poor thing is probably ready to punch something."

"Tch. Looking pretty and pouring wine. It's not that hard, yeah?" She shot back, a snaky smirk baiting her old friend. "Is it, Link?"

"…uh…" The boy glanced between the two awkwardly, hesitant to join.

"You're going the right way for a smack, tonight. Keep that up and I'll hire you on over the summer and see how well you do in lipstick and an apron, you hear?" The burly woman gave Ashei a stern look, cocking a brow as if intending to make good on the threat as she wagged a finger.

The warrior simply snickered, cut short as it was by a flash of discomfort as she brought a hand to pat her side with a small cough. "...Anyway…" She started, giving Link a cold sort of look and leaning forward with a menacing air. "I've got a bone to pick with you, kid. You sneaky bastard, why didn't you tell me you were the Wolf when I was waffling on about you like an idiot? Sucker for praise, are you?"

With a small sigh under his breath, Link's hand rose to scratch at his nose some, careful not to aggravate the damage as he hid behind the gesture. "…To be perfectly honest… I was hoping to leave that behind me." He admitted slowly, his hand falling away to rest limply in his lap.

Ashei blinked some, settling her accusing tone. "You're kidding?" she looked him up and down as if searching for a sign that he was. "Half the blokes you beat today would give an arm or a leg to have the kind of notoriety you do… Hell, even I'd even take on your job if it came with the recommendations. You'd seriously leave behind one of the most talked about identities in Hyrule for a _captaincy_?"

The rancher looked between the women, catching the same slight disbelief from Telma as well, and realized that though his reputation as the Wolf must've been strong, there was less known about him then just his looks in the mainstream. It was like the world thought of him as some sort of enigma, sought after and legendary in his own right and something aspired to be. His shoulders gave a heavy shrug, as Link could only think on how different it was on the other side of the name.

"It started out alright, with the extra money, but after a while people started getting the wrong ideas and then it seemed like everybody was talking about me like some sort of phantom of the night. Me and Malinna already had enough of a bad reputation as it was, and pretty soon, I was only being contracted for serious criminals, and that was few and far between. I started freelancing after that…"

A grimace came to his face, and he shrugged. "I wasn't making enough to have ends meet, and it looked like the next step would be taking on kills and, well… I'm not a hitman. Then, out of the blue, I got the invite to join the tourney and I thought I could get a fresh start and have a steady income. So yes, actually, I would rather the captaincy, and honestly, it would cause Malinna a lot less worry."

Telma gave Ashei a slightly chastising look now for the way she'd drawn this out of him, and the raven haired warrior withdrew slightly back into her seat, feeling a bit guilty of it. Flicking dark eyes toward the boy in an implied apology, she shifted uncomfortably, conceding some. "Well, I suppose it was good you got invited then. Must've been easier knowing you were likely to win it… I don't think as many competitors would've shown if they'd known you were coming, though. You could've made it easier on yourself if you'd entered under the Wolf, yeah?"

Link paused for a moment, his features darkening slightly. "Actually…I wasn't going to join, at first…" he confessed, rubbing his cheek with some modesty. "It's not really the sort of life I'd planned to have, Royal service and all… but I ran out of options, I guess."

"What do you mean, honey?" The barmaid asked sincerely, intrigued by the boy as she was swiftly becoming—he'd changed so much since she'd seen him as a child, and in a motherly way, she wanted to know more of the man he'd become. "Doesn't every little boy dream of growing up to be a knight? You certainly seem the adventurous type." She chuckled.

"Well… about two days after the invite, we received a notice of foreclosure. Ingora managed to convince them to wait until the next cattle drive for payment, and that bought us some time, but there was no way we could've made the money from the headcount I took." He explained slowly, picking at the leg of his pants in a withdrawn manner. "If we could keep the Ranch and just… have our lives there, you know, I'd be satisfied enough. But it doesn't seem like that's going to happen any time soon… so I'm just going to have to do the best I can for the Crown until we can afford it."

The teasing mood was lost as both women silenced, Telma staring sadly at the boy with sympathy, and Ashei reflecting back to when she'd first met him, and the life he'd had since. The warrior watched Link's gaze flicker toward the right, watchful, and turned to look—a redhead chatting with a guard over the way. It took only a glance for Ashei to recognize her as Link's sister, remembering how she'd cried.

"…Foreclosure?" Telma inquired, blinking some as a braid of her hair was twisted in her fingers, leaning an elbow on the table. "Honey, I thought it was a family ranch? You didn't get in a will?" Her concern was evident.

Link nodded sullenly, the corner of his mouth twitching some at the topic. "We did… But, Ingora was the only one old enough to handle the estate, and we went through some hurdles trying to sort it out, seeing how it was left to me and Malinna. We got it done in the end, but after all the rumours and the accusations, business went dead. Nobody wanted to buy from us or consort with… traitors." He forced himself to say the word, bitter on his tongue after having heard it hissed at him so many times.

"We lost the other hands as soon as their pay stopped… had to sell the ranch in and had it re-mortgaged just to keep it running. We started again small and sold off any excess to the districts and up near Kakariko, and after a while, gained back some business there… but we've never had the same support here in Castle Town."

Telma inclined her head in understanding, deciding not prying any further—she should've guessed as much, Ingora would've been there guardian after the execution seeing how Tarron's wife had passed away years ago, along with Link's parents in the fire. It seemed a lifetime ago, but she'd never forget the sight of the broken Rancher in her bar, day and night for nearly three months, sitting silent at the back table with a bottle in his palm. She'd even watched the kids when they were very little; they would play with Louise behind the bar when she was a kitten as Ingora and Tarron sat back in the shadows, drinking to the departed and hiding their grief from innocent eyes. She wondered idly if Link remembered her from those days, but now was not the time to ask.

"You poor boy…" Telma whispered, shaking her head some at the thought of it all. "You should've come to me back then, I'd have given you the supply contracts to kick a bit of profit up, the bar is doing well enough… Tarron was a good man. You know your mother leant me the money to buy the old place when I was young." She smiled sadly. "I never got to pay back my debts."

Link shook his head lightly, running a hand through his hair and returning a fond look. "Hey, we're doing just fine… Tell you what though, you bring it up with Malinna and she might be able to sort out a new product through your bar, if you're interested?" He brightened then, a shimmer of pride in his eyes. "She's had the idea for a while, but we just need somebody to invest in it."

Telma seemed to brighten as well in response to the boy's shift in mood—he was so resilient, and the bar matron felt a new appreciation for him, not letting the odds deter him like that. "Sure, anything, Honey. What'd you have in mind?" she chimed encouragingly, tapping her knuckles on the table in a business like manner.

"Well, we've come up with a cream based liqueur that may appeal to women more than mead and spirits… It's pretty sweet, so it may take a while to get off the ground, but Malinna's confident in it. You can even flavour it to taste." Link grinned, suddenly a bit excitable. "We're calling it Chateau Romani, after her mother… we remembered how she used to add cream to her tea, and Uncle Tarron used to drink it too with a shot of whiskey in it. So really, it was their idea… we're just borrowing it." He laughed, tilting his head.

"Alcoholic milk?" Ashei raised a hairless brow with amusement, crossing her arms over her chest and giving Link a look of humoured bewilderment. "Well, that's definitely a new one." She turned to Telma quizzically. "It's either a brilliant idea, or a cracked one."

Telma smirked, hazel eyes perusing Link's face with a sly and appreciative glance. "…You show me the contract to sign, and I'll sell it. Come by my bar tomorrow and I'll take however much you have, you hear?" She winked coyly, chuckling.

"Got it." Link beamed, the previous gloom vanishing completely with his smile. It was lively and full of energy, despite the bruising on his nose to spoil such an expression.

"You look a million rupees when you smile like that." Ashei mused, staring at the boy a moment longer than she had intended. Closing her eyes with a smile, a contagion of his, she shook her head with subdued and silent laughter. "Shame you can't sell it; you'd have enough money to get your Ranch back in no time."

Steely eyes looked up to settle upon the woman's blunt features, a memory in them as he silently regarded her. "Even if I could sell it, I wouldn't want to. Priceless in worth, but always free… One of the tiny luxuries afforded to everyone, no matter the class or creed, and it should stay that way." His mouth twitched to show the ghost of a smile in point. "It's a lot easier to keep moving with one, in any case… and much better than tears. Tears are useless, but a smile, that's empowering. A long time ago I got given one right after I threw a punch, of all things… I probably didn't deserve it, but it changed everything for me. I can't remember her face, but I won't forget that smile."

Ashei stared at him some, taken aback that he remembered—her mouth opened to speak, though it closed just as quickly, deciding against it. It wasn't hers to take credit for; everything the boy had done, he'd done himself, and she wasn't going to let him spoil it with talk like 'he didn't deserve a smile'. But as the serving girl finally came to set glasses on the table, turning away as quickly as possible to avoid Ashei's ire, the moment was lost completely. So instead, she nodded empathetically, rapping fingers upon the table.

"You're a good kid, yeah?" She drawled, glancing off to the crowd in some distraction. As she did though, she spotted another person approaching fast with a stilted walk and high collar—and even higher turned nose. "…But here's trouble." She grumbled, bringing the drink to her lips spitefully.

The short individual was dressed in a blazing red doublet, with a thin moustache and a hand raised to dangle a fob watch surreptitiously, white haired and plump. He seemed to waddle some, thin squinted eyes perusing those at the table as his upper lip twitched, until finally coming to stand before them—almost the same height as Telma where she sat.

Clearing his throat and holding his chin high, a squeaky the polished voice came from pursed lips. "Do excuse my interruption, but I have been sent to notify Master Link of His Majesty's request to see him. Forgive me, but if you will remove yourself from the festivities a moment, I would insist upon a prompt reply." He gestured the watch gently, focusing upon Link. "Though I understand the good company of women, Master Link, it would be remiss to keep His Majesty waiting… With me if you please."

Though Ashei didn't bother to hide the insulted scoff she made in return to the elder man's general person, Link stifled his sigh and forced a smile. "No, of course… I'm ready to see him." He nodded, pushing his chair back and standing with a slight stretch of his sore leg. But as he moved from the table to join the red garbed messenger, the elder man put a hand to him, suddenly taking stock of Link's appearance.

"I must heartily disagree, Master Link, the state of you…!" He gasped, readjusting a small gold framed monocle upon the wrinkle of his eye. "…But, this is easily rectified, never fear. I'll escort you firstly to Zelda's handmaidens, I'm sure a touch of make up will hide the bruising nicely. A fresh shirt and some shoe polish as well, methinks. Come quickly, now, we've little time to spare as it is."

Link was then subject to being ushered along, the man's chubby hand at his back as the boy could only look over his shoulder at the women helplessly. Even his farewell was handled for him, as Telma waved him off with a chuckle and Ashei glared.

"I bid you a good night, ladies, please continue to enjoy yourselves." Was the last of it, and Link was swiftly dragged away to be made suitable for the King's eyes.

The women watched him go, and slowly Ashei shook her head, bemused. "Poor bastard."

And poor bastard indeed, for waiting by the exit to the gardens, Ganondorf also witnessed Link being escorted by the keeper, and silently turned to execute his plan. He walked out into the night, passing by the hedging and toward the fountain in search of his ward, who had since resigned herself to hiding amongst the greenery, content to stargaze. Blinking up toward him, her ears twitching at his quiet steps, she smiled.

He paused beside her, taking a moment to burn the moment into his memory—the Princess sitting at the edge of the marble fountain barefoot with her skirts bunched above the knee, golden tresses pulled loose to be bathed in moonlight, the soft trickle of water surrounding her as those devoted crystalline eyes stared up at him. He couldn't help but be distracted by it, and secretly, such a sight only served to encourage what he was about to do.

"Zelda…" He whispered softly, as if broaching an emotional subject, crimson eyes regarding her carefully. "Link is about to meet with your father. I hate to leave you, but I…" The disguised Gerudo paused, allowing his false concern to linger. "I feel I should… follow and keep an eye on the situation, if you'll permit me."

Zelda's smile faded some, her delicate brows knitting together ever so slightly. "You think that's necessary?" She asked, though it was rhetorical given the slight sheen of seriousness to his eyes—the Princess could easily tell he was eager to move, the twitch of his muscles beneath the garb giving it away. With a light sigh, she nodded. "Alright, Sheik… Don't be too long, I'll be out here when you return…"

She took a slow breath, glancing down at her feet and licking her lips before looking at him once more, some worry in her eyes. "You don't really think anything will happen, do you?"

Ganondorf stepped closer, a kind smile masking the sinister glee he felt in that moment. "No, I do not. But it is still a part of my duties to safeguard the throne, and it never hurts to be vigilant." He offered simply, tucking a lock of her hair behind a pointed ear carefully and allowing his thumb to brush her cheek.

"It is only because your father is taking this meeting largely unguarded, given whom he is to take it with. Link may not intend any harm, but there's no way to know another defeated competitor or a guest hasn't decided to make a move in the opportunity, or something similar."

Zelda accepted this, her icy pink lips pulling taut with understanding as her fingers idly twisted into her dress. Glancing at the moon, she tilted her head. "Duty calls then… But, on your way back, can you bring me another glass of wine? I really don't want to go back in there tonight." She pouted.

"Of course." Ganondorf smirked, withdrawing his hand and turning from her, walking toward the outer wall with a purposeful gait.

"And a quiche, as well, please!" She called behind him, even as he jumped high, becoming a blur to the night.

And as his boots landed atop the stone of the southern wall, crimson gaze perusing the sentry posts and the town below, the gentle breeze brought him a sense of freedom he'd not felt in a while. The long braid of silver hair swayed behind him as he looked upon the soft lantern light that spotted the town like the stars of the night sky above, and caught his eye with the shimmer of things to come. Soon, he would again look upon this land, this town, this castle, as its King.

The rightful King; it all boiled down to this. Inside his chest, the beat of his heart sped up with nervousness, an obsessive perfectionism that sent adrenaline through his veins. This had to go exactly as planned, not a thing amiss or out of place. Even as the tingle of magic coated his skin, cloaking him with the charm of shadow he'd grown fond of, his mind ran over every detail like an actor about to meet his beckoning audience and put on the show of their career; every line and gesture they would make.

And his audience awaited him now.

The Gerudo broke into a silent run across the perimeter, the gardens rushing by below until he neared the armory, eying the soldiers coming up on the location—he knew they'd come to retrieve the boy's sword, discarded in his shock during the final bout. To the right of the small stone bunker was a large oak tree, and as soon as he saw it the he knew this would go smoothly. He leapt from the wall, landing with admirable balance upon the nearby tree branch, making his way down to the ground with all the stealth he could muster. Standing behind the thick trunk, he could hear the idle conversation of the pair as they neared, his breathing becoming shallow as he waiting for the opportune moment.

"Yeah, so I heard Jales talking about the next Sumo championships up near Kakariko. I'm thinking about taking Tamalia up there, but I'm still a bit nervous about the whole… in a volcano thing." One of them said, shrugging to the other.

"Eh, I don't care for Gorons…" His partner replied, ambivalent. "Bunch of thugs, really. I just don't get Sumo."

"Yeah, but I hear they're letting other races compete this year."

"Pfft, like that'd be a smart bet against a Goron! You'd need boots of steal to win against one of those rockheads." He laughed, and the jingle of keys became audible. "Alright, you remember which one was his sword?"

The sound of the wooden door unlocking was the signal he needed, and from the shadow of the oak tree, Ganondorf leisurely strolled out to face the men, standing behind them as they opened the armory unawares of his presence. His hand slowly came to settle upon the grip of his knife, sheathed at the small of his back. It hissed as it was drawn, calling attention as the soldiers jumped some, turning to look at him from the doorway with surprise.

"Good evening, gentlemen." Ganondorf purred with a rich and friendly tone. "Enjoying yourselves tonight? Such a pity the two of you did not merit an invitation to the party."

The men looked him over, and the one on the right stepped forward with relief. "Ah, Sheik, man… You had me worried for a second there." He laughed, holding his arms out in a welcoming sort of gesture, though his partners arm rose quickly to stop his advancement.

Though his partner gave him a questioning look, the other removed his helmet, revealing chestnut brown hair and crisp eyes to match. "Hold it, Mikael." He whispered urgently, stepping forward himself to face the Shiekah.

Ganondorf's thick brow rose, fingers twitching confidently upon the grip of his blade, hidden though it was at his side for the moment. The brown haired soldier addressed him calmly.

"Can I help you with something, Sheik?" He asked, though it didn't sound sincere, and this drew the Gerudo's suspicions.

"The King is meeting with our champion in a moment, as you know. I've been sent to see that his sword is returned to him promptly, cleaned and polished. You are dismissed." Came the easy reply, silken and to the point.

"That's strange, see, we've been asked to do the same… It's a job much more befitting us, as I'm sure the Princess would be missing you. It's not safe to leave her unguarded in a public forum." The soldier shot back, tilting his head up slightly—normally, he'd never think of questioning a superior, especially not one so close to Royal favor. But since talking with Link's sister earlier about how the Shiekah had accosted him for a fight, and nearly broken the boy's nose and even strangled him, something about Zelda's attendant just didn't sit right with him anymore.

Mikael turned his head towards his partner in some surprise, becoming a bit nervous as the disguised Gerudo's expression darkened.

"I've been keeping blades for years, long before you were born. Obviously somebody thought better of leaving you two to the task." He spat, growing agitated. "Now step aside and return to your posts. I'll not ask again."

The brown haired soldier took a hand to the hilt of his sword cautiously, heavily weighing whether to draw it or not. "If this is so, then why have you drawn your knife? Do you think we didn't hear it?" He questioned with a glare.

The Gerudo growled at the soldier's persistence, but reigned in his flaring temper. "I did not realize you had not been relieved of the task. Understandable given the focus on the gala, and I understand that people are busy enough… I thought you may be thieves exploiting the lack of surveillance to take off with valuable weaponry to sell."

"Right." The soldier scoffed, incredulous, but turned to Mikael with a nod. "Then you go back to your post Mikael, I'll join you shortly." He turned brown eyes back to the Shiekah coldly. "You won't mind if I accompany you?"

Ganondorf gritted his teeth, knowing that the man would not let this rest. He could see it in those eyes; that hard come by valiance akin to the forces of old. The other one, Mikael, seemed all too keen to leave however, the same cowardice and laziness about him as any other run of the mill guardsman. He could still play this off with a soldier's blood shed, and quickly, his mind adjusted the plan slightly to allow this.

Forcing an amicable look, the Gerudo schooled his features expertly as his knife returned to its sheath, and stepped into the full light cast by the man's lantern. "Just so long as you are not doing so to avoid your duties… Of course." He chuckled, playing this off like a lack of communication. "What's your name? It's rare to see such a fine example of vigilance these days, despite the misunderstanding. I've a good mind to recommend you to the King, myself."

Taken aback by this, the brown haired soldier blinked once, hesitating before giving an answer. "…Shiro. Shiro Viscen." Was the short reply that finally came, and a heavy moment filled the air as brown eyes locked upon crimson, staring each other down in judgment.

Mikael glanced between the two of them, clearing his throat as he began to slip away. "Alright, well, if everything's covered… I'll… be going…" He stammered awkwardly, leaving the two men to their devices, walking off into the shadows slightly faster than normal.

The standstill between the Shiekah and the soldier seemed to last well until Mikael was gone, out of sight and earshot, and slowly, a smirk appeared upon Ganondorf's face—it was a sinister curve to his lips, and his eyes glinted with something dangerous. He didn't bother to hide it.

"So, Shiro…" He started, crossing his arms nonchalantly. "Are you going to get the sword or simply stare at me all night? It's flattering… but I do have to tell you, I don't swing that way, if that's where your mind is." A wolfish grin cracked after the words had left his lips, watching as Shiro flinched and seem to recoil at the notion, only to grunt and turn on his heel to comply.

The Gerudo snickered to himself, tapping fingers rhythmically upon his bicep. After a moment, the soldier returned with Link's blade in hand, shutting the door behind him and affixing the locks once more, double checking to make sure it was secure. Shiro stepped up to him, eyeing him some, but made no move to relinquish the sword.

_Likely still on edge from my drawing the knife, _he thought, _Idiot. If I was going to slay him here, I wouldn't have put away my weapon…Hell, I wouldn't have shown myself at all._

"With me, then." Ganondorf gestured for the soldier to follow, turning his back to him and setting a firm pace.

Shiro couldn't help but hesitate, though as he was sent a glare over the broad shoulder of the Shiekah, he began to walk as commanded. They remained in a tense silence as they went, shortly making their way through the training grounds and to the large iron doors. The soldier thought as he followed, and it occurred to him that perhaps he had made some mistake, and things were exactly as Sheik said. Turning the blade over in his hands for inspection, however, his keen mind noted the one flaw in the explanation—the blade had already been cleaned, or at least, had not drawn blood during the tourney.

It required no maintenance whatsoever.

Brown eyes grew vindicated as they returned to the Princess' attendant, suspicion in them—he didn't really have any justification to feel it, he knew. This man was entrusted by the King himself to guard the heiress to the throne, his future queen. Even the things the ranching woman had told him over the course of their conversation earlier had explained his motives behind the fight. But this strange twist in Shiro's gut would not rest, and he was always one to follow his instincts. They had saved his life on several occasions, and the way the Shiekah had appeared suddenly, blade drawn and intent in his crimson eyes… It was far too sinister. For him then to ordered them dismissed with such authority made it evident to the soldier that the man didn't want company, and he had the sneaking suspicion that he'd avoided being stabbed somewhere in the mix of it all—Sheik had probably thought better of it.

The sound of their boots upon the carpeted stone of the halls, muted as it usually was, seemed to echo eerily with the lack of other people. Everybody else seemed to be tied into the Gala somehow, and through this wing in particular one could imagine the rare concept of the castle unoccupied.

When he found his voice, it almost seemed too loud against the silence, harsh to hear, though he spoke with little more than a whisper. "…Are you going to kill him?" Shiro asked, though unsure why—There could be any number of lesser things the Shiekah planned, but this one seemed to leap to the forefront of his mind. Even then, he knew he'd receive a lie.

Ganondorf's ears twitched and he found himself pausing mid step, not quite believing the man had the audacity to ask, let alone the mental capacity to come to it. Perhaps this one was more clever than he'd given credit for… in any case, it presented an intriguing opportunity and he wanted to test his story for when all this was over on somebody astute enough to pick it apart. A moment passed before he forced himself onward, turning his head to cast a sidelong leer at the soldier behind him. Taking a slow breath, he considered where this may lead, but given his intentions decided to indulge this curiosity.

"Kill whom?" He asked tactfully, his voice devoid of emotion.

Shiro faltered some, brown eyes returning to the blade he held, and bit the inside of his cheek. It was a dangerous thing, this conversation, but he needed to have it… and if Sheik was not going to deny it, then he had no choice but to pursue this.

"…Link." The soldier answered, sounding as if he was under some great burden of honour. "If he's going to see the King… I'm not a fool. I remember how his uncle killed the Captain…" Shiro sighed some, shaking his head as he forced the words out. "I talked to his sister earlier, at the Gala, when I was off duty. She told me about your 'test'."

As the two of them turned into a more narrow archway, nearing the Council Chambers, Ganondorf found himself reliving a memory—he'd walked this very path when he'd first entered the castle, under suspicion of Talleday. Now it seemed history was to repeat itself, this soldier, Shiro, walking with him through the same halls, with the same look in his eye. He chuckled to himself, not caring how it may seem to the other, and shook his head at the irony of it all.

With a click of his tongue, he began, unsure of whether it was a lie or the truth. "No, Shiro. I am not going to kill the boy tonight, nor was I planning to…" He stopped then, turning to face the other man. "I lied to you, yes. I've not been requested to have the sword cleaned, or fetch it, and you were right to question this. You may not be aware, but I have a history with Link that goes back to before Talleday's murder, in fact, I was there the day the Captain threatened him."

Shiro blanched then, a slight confusion evident upon his strong features. His eyes seemed wide with surprise at the revelation, though still expectant on where he was going with it. When he remained silent, seemingly waiting on more of an explanation before letting his suspicions be confirmed, Ganondorf chose to continue.

"Most people would have you believe that the family is a pack of traitors, and their reputations have never recovered from the accusations, but this simply isn't the case. I did indeed fight him earlier, and I can tell you know, he is nothing of the sort… there is no malice to him; no wish to harm. I pushed him to the limit in search of a reaction, made use of underhanded techniques, and yet he did not respond with anger or any vengeance."

The disguised Gerudo stepped closer to the soldier, looking down upon him with an unreadable expression.

"I drew my knife in the hope you may be intimidated and move along. When you did not, I deceived you because I wanted to present the boy with his blade as he is named Captain, myself… I owe him that much. Nobody else may believe it, but I know that the Ranchers had nothing to do with Talleday's murder. They simply aren't the types to be capable of it, and if I had kept a better eye out, none of it may have happened. If I had put aside my difficulties with the captain, I may have saved his uncle from the noose, but I ignored it. It's my fault that he is dead."

As these words hung heavily in the air, the doubt left Shiro's eyes, and a relieved sigh left his lips. Shaking his head, the soldier gave a self depreciating chuckle, feeling foolish about ever having suspected the Shiekah of conspiracy. He grimaced as brown eyes traced the sword, holding it up, and with a nod it was handed to the other.

"Forgive me, Sheik… I… I don't know what I was thinking." He admitted with a smile, looking up at the attendant's face. "I guess I'm so used to the other's opinions about them… When I talked to Malinna, I knew it too. They're nothing like what others suspect them of being." He rubbed the back of his neck bashfully. "I was worried you were going to act on the assumption that Link… may try to kill the king, or something crazy like that."

And that said, his gut feeling about the Shiekah was discarded, ignored as a rare miss.

Ganondorf laughed then, as did the soldier, but the Gerudo's laugh stemmed from how easily this was twisted away from him—not only that, but Shiro had reaffirmed it would be Link that was suspected of foul play, regardless of whether 'Sheik' had been around or not. Even as Shiro had come so close to realizing the true traitor among them, a silver tongue prevailed; Ganondorf held to potent a position to be truly suspected as guilty of anything other than misguided protectiveness at worst.

Humoured by it all, and in a very good mood, Ganondorf gave the soldier a friendly pat on the arm, resuming a comfortable gait toward the end of the passage and holding Link's sword in one arm as the two settled into calm reticence. Shiro had done him a service here, and that would not go unrewarded—he knew just the thing too, remembering the captain of old.

When finally they stood at the large ornately carved door that acted as a side entrance for the Council Chambers, Shiro made the mistake of stepping forward, intent to open it. It was only then did a powerful arm wrap around him from behind, a large hand clamping tightly over his mouth as Link's sword was brought to his throat. The soldier froze with horror, realizing the lie as the unforgiving kiss of metal slit cleanly across his neck, spilling blood before his struggle could begin.

"…No, Shiro. I'm not going to kill the boy tonight…" Ganondorf hissed into his ear, holding him tightly as he pressed the soldier to the wall, pinning him as he bled. "I can't kill my scapegoat now, can I? But the King…? Well, that's different… And you, I was tempted to let you walk away from this. But I can see now, you're exactly the sort of man to be a thorn in my side later… You truly are a good soldier; quick witted and a good sense for intentions… Just like Talleday."

A dark laughter filled Shiro's ear as he struggled for breath, choking and gurgling on his own blood as his vision began to blur and fade, and unseen the golden glint of evil returned to taint the Gerudo's eyes. "And now you'll die like him. Alone, throat cut and every drop spilled serving to condemn an innocent man… Your King is on the other side of that door, and he'll never even know how close you came to saving his life. Such a pity… But unlike the Captain, I give you the knowledge of who it was that killed you."

Slowly, the warmth of life faded from those brown eyes, leaving them paled as death came to claim him; his heart beating weakly within his chest was as a slow and mournful tempo to fill the silence between the words. Between his gasping lungs, blood-filled mouth and torn windpipe, he managed a rough and spiteful garble of a name. "M… Mi.. gh… M-Mikael…"

"Your little friend is of no concern. I came to you employing a little charm I've been practicing… No sooner had he left did he forget he ever saw me at all. Out of sight, out of mind, as it were—had you simply left with him our meeting would've been erased from your mind as well… But no, instead you followed me to your death, and Mikael should hardly even remember going out to the armory, let alone enough detail to put it all together. You die here unable to be avenged; worthless."

Ganondorf snickered, as his breath fanned out against the other's ear. "Be sure to tell Talleday, when you see him in Hell… That the King of Evil sends his fond regards."

The Gerudo slowly released his weight, watching with a sick sense of satisfaction as the body slid down the wall, staining it crimson as Shiro crumpled to the ground. With the last of his precious energy, body now spent to the attack, the soldier shifted weakly to sit against the wall; the sickening garrote of undrawn breath upon his lips, a faint gurgle. A shaky hand reaching out even as brown eyes were blinded white by his demise was held desperately before the Shiekah, as if a final attempt to stop this from happening, the futility of it lost to Shiro's fading mind. His killer knelt down patiently; drawing the blade harmlessly across the material of the soldier's uniform sleeve, cleaning it of his blood to be readied for its next victim.

The bereavement left the soldier's face, calmed into a chilling peacefulness as his fleeting spirit was torn from him, leaving a hollow body to slump against the stone. His hand fell away, limp by his side, chestnut wisps falling over his brow as his head hung; the epitome of a whitewashed man.

Grinning to himself now, Ganondorf turned feral golden eyes upon the door, eager to resume his main game now that this liability had been disposed of, and stood. He laid his hand upon the brass handle, bandaged fingers curling about it with a sense of twisted delight as in the other hand was tightened upon the stolen swords hilt.

"Show time."

On the other side of that door, unaware of the horror behind it, the chamber was filled by the echo of boots pacing slowly, though the King himself was secluded within the atrium at the side. Laid out upon a round table, usually reserved for maps and on occasion a new edict to be passed with haste, a uniform sat neatly folded with a small, though exquisitely polished crest pin. To the side of it sat a bold helmet of a golden hue, symbolic of the rest of the armour to come—still being forged to Link's smaller stature and proportions.

Cool blue eyes turned to them once again, making sure not a thing was out of place or missing. He had planned this carefully, Link's acceptance into the country's good graces; a private audience with him, no guards or obvious security.

Unorthodox though it may usually have been considered, His Majesty had made it so if only for this particular occasion. The lack of formality promoted the growth of kinship, and the feeling of being acknowledged, and the King could only hope the lack of defense may show the boy that he was not considered a danger, or suspected of being one. After all, Link was set to become the very defense the King had against real assailants, if they ever came about, and would be trusted with that role wholeheartedly.

Perhaps it was His Majesty's way of being able to forgive the past and prove not only to Link, but any fragment of himself that still felt the insult of Talleday's murder, that time had moved on and from something destructive could always come hope. Like a wildfire that seared the land, leaving nothing unblackened by its rage, from the soot and ash a forest would always spring anew. Sometimes, that which struggled through the aftermath grew stronger and more beautiful than what had come before.

Such was the way of Hyrule, as any legend would tell, and Link seemed to the King a personification of that trait.

As his fingers moved to adjust the helmet—facing it slightly more toward him in an obsessive compulsive habit—the sound of a door opening across the way reached his ears with a soft echo. His posture straightened impossibly, reflexive and unnecessary, as His Majesty tracked the almost silent sound of steps moving through the Council Chambers. They slowed, as if the owner was looking around in curiosity, though after a moment started up again in the direction of the atrium in which the King stood.

He turned slowly, hands held behind his back in a military manner, and allowed his cool gaze to linger upon the small archway expectantly as he readied the words he'd been mulling over for some time. Though when finally the boots came into sight, it was not those of Link, but rather, a familiar pair worn by the man he entrusted with his daughter's wellbeing.

"Sheik? I haven't called upon you…" The King mused with a friendly sort of smile, taking a step forward with a welcoming gesture of his hand. "Here to oversee the lad's induction, are you? You were always one to see things go smoothly."

A dark sort of chuckle escaped the supposed Shiekah's lips, crimson eyes glancing to the sword and tilting it to draw the King's attention as he thoughtfully stepped through the threshold. "…Something of that nature, yes…"

Raising a brow, the sovereign did indeed spare a glance to the blade, realizing that the Shiekah had brought it instead of the guards, as he requested—perhaps the soldiers put to the task had gotten caught up in other duties, or even the festivities. Shaking his head lightly, a hand came to pluck at his neat beard.

"Ever the perfectionist, as I am." The King looked the other over, a look of knowing to his regal features, though as the man stepped closer under better light, the injuries he'd sustained in the spar became apparent. Squinting with a faint concern, His Majesty inclined his head with seriousness. "You've been fighting… Is there something happening, Sheik?" He asked, low.

The Gerudo noticed how those blue eyes traced his visage; split brow and some bruising to the side of his face, darkening a crescent under his eye as well. He remembered then that in the rush of everything, his focus elsewhere, he had not thought to heal himself. Out of pure habit, a lie began to form upon his tongue, but Ganondorf swallowed it down.

It was no longer needed here.

"Yes, Sire, there is." Came the answer, echoing heavy through the space between them. "I hate to spoil the notion, but I am not here simply for Link's sake. Your life is also in danger."

"Surely, you jest…" The King uttered with some shock as his eyes grew wide, brows rising. "Who? A guest? They can't be here now… I've posted men to watch the exits of the hall…?"

Instinctively, a paranoid glance was taken of his surrounds, and with the sudden heightening of attention, the King noticed something when again his gaze fell upon the Shiekah's face. "By the Gods, man, what happened to your eyes?" He gasped, seeing now the unholy golden hue.

Ignoring the question, the Gerudo stepped forward, a calm though urgent sort of tone to his voice. "This may come as a shock to you, Your Majesty, but there is indeed an assassin in this very chamber, waiting to strike you down…" He lowered his voice to a whisper, stopping to stand before the King by no more than a foot as he leaned close, like a friend sharing a secret.

"I would advise you stay quiet…" Ganondorf glanced to the side, even at this close proximity. "…They may strike at any given moment…"

Taking a slow breath as he considered the gravity of this situation, the Sovereign lowered his gaze to the floor, holding a hand to his midsection nervously. Licking his lips before speaking with a low volume, his brows knitted together as his concern drifted elsewhere. "…What of Link?" He asked, fingers tapping upon the breastplate. "Does he know of this?"

"Not a clue, I'm afraid, but that is an important factor. It has come to my attention that the boy is to be pinned as your killer by the true assailant." Ganondorf breathed, trying to hide the smirk that threatened to take him over. "As for whom he is… You've been deceived, Sire. The killer is responsible for not only the murder of Talleday, but also that of the soldier, Shiro Viscen, killed when on duty this evening after being instructed to retrieve Link's sword."

Ganondorf drew away from the King silently then, walking to circle him as his gaze wandered every nook and cranny of the chamber, as if searching for this 'killer' lying in wait. "Let's start from the beginning, shall we?" The Gerudo mimicked, replaying the memory of when he'd first arrived.

"_Shiek, wasn't it?" The King asked casually, arching a brow. _

_Ganondorf nodded, crimson eyes watching the girl's father cautiously. The King studied him openly, circling the large man as if inspecting him for any flaws. Once he had completed his movement, a glance was sent toward the councilmen, who looked upon their King with rather bored and doubtful expressions._

As the Sovereign grew impatient with some panic, unused to feeling such a thing, he turned to settle a wary gaze upon the attendant, wide as his eyes were with foreboding sense of déjà vu. Clenching his teeth, he swiftly grew tired of the Shiekah's evasive nature.

"Out with it man! If you know who it is, tell me! What of my Zelda, has she been targeted as well?" He spat, desperation upon his face as his composure quickly began to slip.

The Gerudo did not answer until he'd ritualistically completed his rounding of the King, stopping to stare at him as if—unlike so long ago—his inspection indeed warranted several flaws to be picked at. _His Zelda;_ how naïve. Golden eyes snapped up toward that pompous face, groomed to look every inch like that of a noble and capable Hyrulian royal. No matter what expression came of it, the result was an insult to Ganondorf, tainted by the pure Hylian features to forever hold the appearance of something he utterly despised.

"I am afraid so, and despite my best efforts to keep Zelda safe, I fear that the one after your life is the King of Evil, disguised as one of us... I have taken it upon myself to train Zelda in combat over the past few years; forgive me, Sire, but I felt it must be done." The stolen sword was raised slightly, golden eyes drifting to the side as if he'd heard something. "She is quite skilled, and the Shiekah blood in her veins is evident, however…"

The King blanched as Sheik trailed off, unsure of which disturbed him more—the revelation of his daughter's training, or the 'however' that threatened something more drastic. His hands came to wring themselves, before the gesture was hidden, instead replaced by interlacing the fingers hovering in front of his stomach. Ganondorf noticed with intrigue that this must have been where Zelda garnered the habit of fidgeting when nervous or excited—her father, under the façade of control he presented, was no better for it when stress came calling.

The corner of the Gerudo's mouth twitched with humour, a faint smirk to outline his words. "…I believe that by using this guise, the Evil King has gained a close proximity to the Princess, and indeed, her young affections. She often talks about the man becoming King in future, by way of her marrying him… At first I did not think she was serious, and so didn't pay it any mind—you know how whimsical she can be, and I understand it is easy at her age to gain new crushes..." He offered plainly, a slight roll of his shoulder to it. "Nobody would have ever suspected that the one she speaks so of may in fact be the Evil of Old."

"But how is this even possible?" The Sovereign stuttered, shaking his head with some disbelief as the worry brought out the age in his face. "If she is so keenly in tune with her heritage, as you claim, why then hasn't she seen through this… this 'guise'? And furthermore, how could you yourself have not been made aware of this threat until this late hour? I find that hard to believe, Sheik, when I know how capable you are of 'seeing the truth' as it were." He grimaced, suddenly disdainful of such a claim—a world renowned ability, supposedly, and yet what had it amounted to now?

The Gerudo's features set into hard lines, mouth opening to speak and showing of the points of his canines as he did so. His free hand came to point a finger, waving with tiny movements as if a detective had come to his conclusion; the crux of the conundrum.

"That would bring us back to my eyes, Your Majesty… You see, these eyes of mine, they see no truth. The King of Evil has long made use of magic to confuse the senses, and has obviously been sure to suppress the Princess' intuitions, also. Yes, he is wearing a mask of disguise to fool the eyes on simple appearance, but he has also targeted those of us who are…" He lingered on the words as his eyes shot upward in brief thought. "…more attentive. And those that he could not apparently deceive through these traits alone, masterful lies have been crafted to abate. Failing that, we've had a few series of unfortunate events to suggest he simply 'disposed' of any threats."

Mind ticking this over, the King's eyes followed the sway of the waving finger, as if it held some sort of hypnotic power, his gaze drifting to the Shiekah's face over the course of his explanation. Ears twitched lightly to the words, when finally a silence became apparent again, the sovereign nodded, some comprehension coming to him.

"I see…" He mused quietly, his arms falling uselessly to his sides.

Slowly, within the King's mind, it was beginning to come together and through the haze of it all, he recalled things that he'd thought long forgotten.

"_A member of the Shadow Clan, Sheik; He is the one who found me." Zelda bounced on her feet lightly, once, before reining in her enthusiasm to continue. "He recognized me immediately father, and swept me out of harm's way. He even mentioned that he has been observing me for some time, I don't doubt that he is responsible for my safety recently."_

_A hushed discussion immediately started amongst the councilmen, as the King narrowed his eyes slightly. "…Harm's way?" He questioned, his stern expression thinly veiling displeasure, directed toward the guards._

"_Yes, Sire…" Talleday grudgingly admitted, "A wayward stallion caught her Highness within its path. Then this 'Sheik' appeared and put it off course, before insisting on the fact that we were…" He peered back at the disguised Gerudo, "…'Ill equipped', was it?" His attention returned to his sovereign. "…To guard the Princess." He finished spitefully._

The King stared at the Shiekah, his mouth becoming dry—yes, Talleday had been one to object openly to his appearance and the start of his service. And indeed, the Sovereign himself had been apprehensive of his appearance as well; the first Shiekah in over a century to come forward in the flesh, let alone to guard an heir. Only the lullaby, the connection to the Royal Family—unmistakable—and had the key to quelling any doubt.

Even then, Talleday had not relented in his opinions of the Shiekah, and had been the first to inform the King of any oddity.

_Hesitating for a moment, as the Shiekah skipped the formalities to head straight to the point, the King glanced at his wine before slowly speaking. "…It has come to my attention that you have… overstepped your duty of care to stumble into," His cool blue eyes turned to the ceiling as he pondered the best way to say it. "Questionable territory."_

_His icy coloured gaze settled solely upon Ganondorf then, as the Gerudo tried to set his features. His internal rage was practically tearing at his mouth to form a sneer._

"_Really." He asked rhetorically. "…And who might've told you that?"_

Sheik had never reacted well to being questioned, or put in the spotlight. Evasive and private in his affairs… Save only for when it suited him, or was advantageous that he do otherwise. No order to reveal more of himself, be it Royal request or simply conversational, had ever heralded reward or straight answers; the man was cryptic, a talking riddle.

When Talleday had met his unfortunate end, Sheik was very much present the following day when called upon. He knew names, faces, and gave a witness report of the interaction between Link and Talleday over the milk incident. There was no evasiveness, no cryptic answer… only a scene that would later serve as the evidence in the trial, beside the bottle piece, to condemn the boy's Uncle.

_Even as the rope was lowered and fastened around his neck, itching at his beard and scratching the skin of his throat, Tarron's eyes closed with the quiet reflections of a damned soul in their final moments._

_With the roar from the crowd below, and the final, lonely yell of a desperate boy, the crank of that deadly lever shifted as the platform gave way to seal the Rancher's fate._

And Zelda, his Zelda… She held Sheik in such high regard; he was dependable and ever present, and knew her like no other. She had run through the castle the day after Talleday's death, utterly distraught, to be carried off by her attendant. After no more than a few hours with him, she was herself again; surprising others with her resilience despite the earlier emotional turmoil…

The same could be said of the Rancher's execution. Zelda had gone missing that morning, only to be found by Sheik. She'd become a woman that very day, and it was not her father there to comfort, but the attendant once again. The King could recall now, in retrospect, that it was about that time she began wearing a necklace. He'd not seen her without it since he'd noticed it—the pendant in the shape of the Shiekah crest.

It was also the mark of her first distancing herself from him; her own father, shied away from and given hollow conversations and glances. Things that once endeared him to her lost their charm, and even met with some protest as time went on.

"_Thank you, but no… Not to sound out of place father, but to break such spirit for something as trivial as a compliant source of entertainment seems… unfair." She started slowly, careful not to sound ungrateful. "I would much prefer to go with you, one of these days, and see the wild horses as they are meant to be… free, that is…"_

_Seeing the arched brow sent her way, she sighed lightly under her breath. "That is the magic of it; a wild horse broken in is no longer wild, you see… I suppose you could say that I don't believe you can harness such a spirit and keep it intact."_

The day she'd stopped playing the violin, to take up the lyre, instead… that day marked the start of her evolution, truly. Her mindsets changed, and Zelda became more and more certain of what she wanted over the years since—and more behaved; disciplined... now aware of her secret training, the King realized this must've have been the time it started.

And even this very night, defying everything to kick of her shoes in the middle of an important event, with all eyes upon her…

"_I think not, for now, thank you… I've worn those shoes a long time, Father, and they hurt my feet." Her head titled some as she said this, as if it were the simplest truth in the world, blonde ringlets swaying lightly. "I'll do just fine without them, I think."_

The chilling meaning behind those words of hers hit him clearly now—she had discarded him, turned against him, her thoughts guided by another for far too long to counter.

At every notable turn, Sheik's involvement had been a catalyst; his presence bled into everything, changing the thoughts and lives of those around him. This had always been admired about him, and seen as a good thing. His influence brought favorable circumstance from the times of disaster.

Even The King had always appreciated this of him, and tonight, had acknowledged it.

"_You honour me, Sire." He spoke quietly, almost distractedly, though his attention was clearly on the King. "You entrust me with your legacy… And I will ensure that it continues as strong as ever before. Stronger. I will take care of Link, as per your request… I had intended on taking him aside tonight to discuss these things privately. He will be recognized all throughout the land when I am done."_

And yet, he had also been within his family's service since the disasters began occurring in the first instance.

Slowly coming out of his reverie, what seemed an eternity locked in thought within his own mind, only seconds had passed under the now golden gaze; each of these memories linking into what had been said about this assassin.

Zelda's affections… Magic to confuse the senses; the necklace… Talleday; the bottle piece, and Sheik's being present where the bottles broke… Even Viscen's being killed on route to retrieve Link's sword…

Which the Shiekah now held.

The King's eyes became icy, blood cold, and no sooner did he connect it all did the telltale, sinister grin appear on the Shiekah's face—an expression that usually went hidden, or discarded as a trick of the light, was clear now.

He knew that the Sovereign had caught on as intended.

The King took an unconscious step back, his skin growing pale as he stared at the other man—his longtime friend and ally, a confidant—and saw nothing of the illusion anymore. Drawing a shaken breath, conviction stained his voice as he gave his last order.

"…Show me… Show me the real you." Came a broken, distant voice so unlike the regal and articulate one that usually did. "I want to see the true face of what we've feared."

"With pleasure, _Your Majesty_." Ganondorf spat with a dark glee, golden eyes shining with the flicker of hellfire.

Spreading outward from those terrible eyes, he changed, the Shiekah melting away. Pointed ears shortened to become round. Slightly tanned skin darkened to a harsh, almost sooty, olive-brown—that of a desert dweller, tainted by years of dark magic abuse. Silver hair, as if the colour of it was washed away by water, was set alight in a fiery crimson hue. What stepped forth was undoubtedly one of the lost Gerudo, this horrible stranger lifting his hand to pull back the glove as those golden eyes pierced the King's own to stare down into the very bottom of him.

On the back of his hand, shining with a subtle pulse, the Holy Mark of the Triforce was clear; Power at the top of it glowing with a haunting confirmation.

Watching the King's eyes trace it with horror, any fleeting hope that had been hiding in those cool blue eyes was removed—ripped from him, crushed and broken. Ganondorf tilted his head, the wicked and sordid smirk bearing vicious canines once again.

"Your champion approaches… I can feel it… Even so, you'll be dead before he can reach you." He purred, rich voice filled with sick satisfaction. "And when you are dead, I will be the only one able to take the throne—a regent until our sweet Princess comes of age, a woman that I've carefully crafted." He laughed haughtily.

It was as a blur, the movement of the Gerudo closing the distance between them. A heavy hand came down upon the King's mouth, clamping tightly to prevent breath or speech, or even a scream as the sovereign was slammed downward. His head and back hit the table, the blunt sound of the metal breastplate colliding with wood outmatching the crunch of skull as the gold helmet was knocked away. With it also, the thin and simple crown was cast from atop the Royal's head to clatter across the floor, rolling and spinning as it settled into place upon the cold stone. Pinned, feeble hands gripped the Gerudo's thick wrist in vain, desperate eyes peering frantically up at this stranger's harsh features.

Ganondorf leaned down, bearing that twisted smile as the man he once was shone though unabated, a lust for blood in his eyes as they were tainted with controlled madness. "Not that it won't become permanent when your daughter has me for a husband, in her bed every night, holding her… taking her… every curve and thought, every smile of hers is mine and will always remain so."

Power pulsed to life as Link came ever closer, searing through the Gerudo's veins and fueling him dangerously—the Hero's proximity was the key to the King's death, allowing him the brief window he needed to draw upon his blessing. He had allowed it to reach the peak while within its limited state, delaying as long as possible, but it was no longer safe to linger. His greed had been his undoing in the past, and in this moment, he was prepared to face his flaw and correct it.

Ganondorf stared down to see the outrage in the King's eyes, the hatred and self loathing; regrets and fears for a future he would not be part of. Knowing he was out of time, the promise he'd made himself was finally fulfilled as Link's sword was raised high, poised to stab through this shallow excuse of a leader, father, and man.

"…Just like I fucked her last night, Sire, as per her request."

The muffled scream of the Sovereign was matched by that of the Gerudo's laughter, maniacal and wild as the sword was drawn higher. The almighty pulse of Power fueled the downward strike, augmenting the strength behind it, as if it was divine will itself that the blade pierce the breastplate and rend the flesh beneath, embedding into the table. It had speared the man, impaled through his torso and indeed, Link's intended uniform under him. Blood seeped thick into the fabric of it, and within moments, grew too much to be soaked up. Shining by torchlight, it dripped from the wood as the King's body twitched around the steel—coughing and cries of agony stifled by his killer's hand.

Looming over him still, the Gerudo could only cackle, taken over by the moment as he held the grip, watching him die. Pure joy came from his lips, an elation he'd long forgotten as his golden gaze was feral, taking in every detail and writing it to memory; precious. The single tear that rolled down the King's face… the thin rivulet of blood that came pouring from his mouth, smeared some by the hand… the wet squelching of his vitals as they quivered around the sword and the rhythmic, water-like drip of Royal essence to the floor.

Drawing back, Ganondorf smiled down at the corpse, watching as finally, those blue eyes lost colour to be replaced by hollow grey—the expression could only be described as an artist looking upon a freshly painted canvas, knowing it was a masterpiece.

"Long live the King…" He breathed fondly, eyeing the fallen crown.

But his grin faltered slightly as he remembered himself, the guise he'd held for so long creeping to cover his skin once more with the tingle of magic, head turning to the archway. The last of the gold faded, and crimson eyes squinted—Link was coming though the main hallway now, and would enter the chamber within the minute. _Time to move, _he thought, shifting quickly.

Crossing the chamber quickly, Ganondorf returned to where Shiro's corpse lay, growing cold, pulling the door to and hiding in the shadow of it. A greedy anticipation stained his face, like a naughty child about to see a prank come to fruition as through the main doors strode Link, bid adieu by a rather snooty looking footman.

"Remember, Master Link, to bow and address His Majesty as such; Manners, I cannot impress enough. Good luck, and of course, my congratulations." With a twitch of his moustache, the man turned on a heel, nose held high. "Your sword shall be waiting for you as well, and be sure to thank His Majesty heartily for its return to you." He called quietly, worried for the boy's impression.

Steely eyes watched with relief as the man left, holding back a small laugh for the stilted gait—it almost looked as if there was a carrot up his backside. "I know, and I will… Worry will make you an old man, you know." He teased subtly, smiling to himself. Perhaps the upper class did have their upside in humour.

A scoff echoed down the hall, and reluctantly, Link turned with a bracing breath, holding it and letting it pass from the side of his mouth. He rolled his shoulders, and tugged at the fresh shirt, straightening his belt. "Here we go…" He mused to himself, stepping forth toward the atrium.

The steps echoed eerily, sending a shiver of nervousness up the rancher's spine—if the King was here, then why did the chamber feel so… empty? His gaze curiously studied the expansive room, idly guessing the number of seats within, until finally landing upon the small marble archway to a side chamber. _Ah, there we go,_ he thought, adjusting his direction.

Though as the boy drew close, distracted as he was by thought, it took him a moment to register the sight. Blinking, a double take was performed—there upon the table, speared by a blade, was the King slain. Link stopped, frozen as a wave of horror swept him. All of his senses seemed to heighten in response, the crisp details burning into his eyes and the drip of blood filling his ears like the slow beat of a drum. He gagged once, covering his mouth as his gut twisted, and beyond all reasoning, the boy's feet moved swiftly into a run to close the distance.

He skidded to a halt, almost slipping on the slowly forming pool of blood, hands frantically hovering over the body as if searching for something to help. "Y-Your Majesty! I… Y-you… How?" He stuttered helplessly, wide eyes roaming the corpse for any clue as to who had killed him, flitting to the crown upon the floor with regret.

But as he noticed more, analytical mind documenting what was to be found, the signs of an obvious killer struck him with cold acuity. His sword stuck fast from the torso of the King. His hands settled on the breastplate uselessly, the boy uncaring about the blood that smeared his skin as he shook his head with culpability.

"I… I'm so sorry… I… If I had been here on time, I would've…" His eyes shut tightly, knowing that he had already failed in his new duties. "Oh Goddesses, forgive me…"

Turning away with a lost look, he scanned the rooms vulnerably as desperation took hold. "Help! Please, anybody! The King, He… He's been killed!" He called out, voice strained as if all of his strength had been sapped by the mere sight.

In response, quick footsteps sounded, and Link ran to the sound fraught with a need to do something. Within the large chamber, he looked up to see the Shiekah approaching him, a look of panic to the man's harsh features—Link had never seen him so concerned by anything, as he called across the room in his approach.

"Sheik! Sheik, the King…!" He cried, steeled eyes lit up with horror.

Ganondorf stopped, using Link as a basis of how to act with this news as he scanned the boy's face and movements—stopping, as if frozen with some shock, he shook his head and cringed, expertly playing along. "No…" He breathed, as if he couldn't believe it, but soon set his face into one of urgency, locking eyes with the boy.

"A soldier has been killed in the hall, as well…!" He turned, glancing at the hall. A hateful snarl took his mouth, brows furrowed into a scowl when he again looked upon the rancher. "…Badon, that bastard, I thought he was up to something when he ran past me! Link, with me! He's headed to the gala!" He commanded, turning to run.

Link's jaw fell as shock overcame him—_Badon, of course, no wonder he wasn't at the gala earlier! _Handsome features contorted into that of the Wolf, cold and harsh, unforgiving. "Right!" He nodded, following the Shiekah's lead, hot on his heels as all else was removed from the boy's mind.

Zelda was at the gala unguarded, and knowing Badon's obsession with her, anything could happen… despite the fact that the King had been murdered already, Link knew that a loose cannon like that could end up doing worse given the chance; he'd seen the traits before.

As they rushed through the halls, men on a mission, Ganondorf's mind rocked with laughter unvoiced. Oh, how wonderfully this had gone—the boy truly was an outstanding kid, leaping without a second thought to right the wrongs of the world… So like his predecessor. The mention of Badon had been just the thing he'd needed to spur Link's inner Hero; the Gerudo remembered clearly how Link had reacted in the fight, and capitalized upon that uncertainty with ease. Badon's temper, losing it at the end and coming at the rancher with killing intent, seemed to fit this otherwise crude attempt to frame the boy. After losing that pompadour, Valenzuela seemed set to do any number of mad and unpredictable things in revenge.

_It's almost too easy, _he snickered in his mind, watching the tapestries and suits of armour fly past, _And two birds with one stone; If I've learned anything from this whole ordeal it is that I am a bloody genius. _Who else could pull off such a mastery of vengeance but he? He's sworn to make these pitiful descendants suffer, and thus far, had made good on it… Surely, it was only a matter of time before everything else fell into place with the same ease. With his luck lately, he may as well become a betting man and leave the gambling dens a millionaire.

As they rounded the final corner, drawing up on the Grand Hall with unabated haste, the Gerudo pulled back, allowing Link to take the lead. Like a predator about to pounce, he kept pace with the boy, counting down mentally with a dark playfulness. The surprise of the guards posted by the entrance was palpable, the cowardly men blanching and jumping out of the way, leaning up against the walls as the two men burst through and into the Hall. The gasp of the crowd was loud, all eyes turned to the commotion as Link yelled out.

"Badon! Where is he?" He called out angrily, icy conviction in his desperate eyes.

And with a wild grin, malicious and haughty for the moment it stayed, Ganondorf leapt from behind the boy, knife drawn quickly with a hiss.

The momentum of his run aided the tackle, leaving no hope for the lad as the full force of Ganondorf's weight was hurled against him, bringing him to the ground. Taken aback as Link was, he never got the chance to express his confusion as a heavily muscled arm wrapped around his neck, a heavy knee driven into his spine to pin him in an upward hold; inescapable.

"Guards!" Ganondorf shouted, authority and anger in his voice. "This traitor has just assassinated the King! Prepare the irons, arrest him and get him out of my sight before I slit his throat clean!"

A moment of shocked silence pervaded the air, thick and heavy as the Shiekah's words were heard by all. A hefty woman fainted in the forefront of the crowd, until everything was shattered, falling into panic and alarm; gasps, screams, and accusations pointed to the boy in question. Without hesitation, the soldiers came forward with loyal outrage, a small army of hands reaching to clasp around the rancher as he struggled, released from Ganondorf's hold. The crowd surged, almost as if every person in the room attempted to reach the traitor to avenge the fallen King, and in the commotion of it all, Malinna stood petrified.

Her eyes wide, her sweet face empty, whitewashed with disconnection to what was happening; she watched as the past repeated itself in the most awful way, silent tears sliding down her cheeks as her brother and only hope was stolen before her eyes, destroyed.

Though Ashei and Telma had risen from their seats, desperately clawing through the crowd in a spirited protest, trying to help their friend, it was not to be. Ashei yelled out above the cacophony of hateful shrieks, her stitches torn and bleeding without care as she waded through the bustling, angry mob. "Link!"

Zelda stood at the arch of the vestibule now, having wandered forth from the gardens in response to the noise, not understanding what was happening as a gloved hand rested upon the stone to stabilize her; crystalline eyes searching the crowd for any clue as to the sudden commotion.

Addressing the guards in a voice loud enough to ensure the entire chamber was filled with it even above the noise of grief; Ganondorf announced the rancher's apparent crimes. "He has killed the King with his own blade, and as I found him, the bastard tried to convince me it was Badon's doing, leading me on a wild goose chase here in a bid to claim innocence in front of a crowd! Do not be fooled by his excuses, the boy has had years to plan this, and he seems to have succumbed to his own insanity; believing his own con!"

Subduing the mad laughter that threatened to spill over, the crowd riling to his every word in a restless bereavement, Ganondorf spat his venomous accusation flawlessly. "Obviously the boy has a vendetta against the crown as did his uncle, and has murdered His Majesty in the hopes of pinning the crime on Badon Valenzuela, in vengeance for his family's loss—though as any in attendance of this event can plainly see, Badon is not in attendance, nor even in the Castle. I arrest him here for the crimes of high treason, conspiracy, perjury, the murder of Shiro Viscen, and the murder of King Daphnes Nohansen Hyrule! Take him away!"

Zelda's legs gave out beneath her, gaze wavering upon her attendant with horror as the reasons for this scene were revealed—her father was dead. Murdered. "…Father…" Came the whisper, rolling from icy pink lips, cold and lonely in the air.

The betrayal hit him like a sack of bricks, Link's heart plummeting into his stomach as the numerous soldiers hauled him to his feet, binding his wrists in iron and dragging him roughly away as glasses came whistling through the air to shatter around him in scorn, crunching under the soldiers' feet.

Sharp, cold eyes turned to the Shiekah, burning with a pained odium as his world narrowed upon the attendant. All of it flashed before his eyes—the lost memory of the shard of bottle picked up, every expression and twitch and tell; the look of bloodlust in his eyes as they fought… the want as the man had choked him, wishing for death to claim him.

"You…" He breathed, witnessing in that moment the resemblance to the man he'd seen while fighting Badon—as Courage flared with his emotions, dangerous, the image returned without any doubt, clear and haunting, super-imposed upon Sheik.

Crimson eyes smiled at him with private vindication, affirming the boy's rage. 'Me' he mouthed silently, unnoticed by anyone else as it was lost to the chaos.

With a primal yell, the boy lunged at him viciously, a surprising strength taking the guards with him as he very nearly crossed the distance, even held back. The Shiekah's gaze flashed with amusement, and Link felt himself restrained further, the back of his knees kicked out as a few more soldiers came forth to take hold.

Kicking and screaming, it took ten men to finally drag the boy away, Royal blood upon his hands… and as the gala seemed to end abruptly, any festive mood completely destroyed by tragedy and betrayal, the chill of the night was felt by all as time stood still; a lonely midnight chime before the clocks were stopped for the lost King.

**A/N: **

**Oh god I'm so happy.**

**And sad… And everything in between… I'm sure I've made a mistake or two in here, but I seriously don't care, because it was deliciously good fun to write.**

**I've been waiting so long for this, and now its here, and I've wasted no time in writing it. SO MANY REFERENCES. I can't even count them… Mostly obscure, but my god, there are so many. And there are two points in this chapter that should hint as to where this is all leading, one's a name and obvious, the other is thoughts about Hyrule. So with that hint, I leave you to ponder.**

**It is yet unedited, my apologies, I will go through it again after work tomorrow, but hey, at least it's up and those of you who wanted this as badly as me can read it now.**

**Now we stumble into the future, and as always, march madly onward to glory.**


	15. Of Past and Origin

When murders happen, cold blooded and foul, it is considered respectful to avoid the place where their lives were taken—if possible. Even those who pass peacefully are often given a good amount of time in which their final location before the grave is left undisturbed, after the body is moved. Perhaps the belief of the lingering spirit acclimatizing to the other world, or the superstitious nature of the Hylians, but the traditions of death were something held to over countless ages unchanged—Clocks stopped, windows opened for an hour only to be closed again; body washed and covered in white. The thought of many feet desecrating the King's last steps alive; many voices and emotions to overshadow any spiritual residue, squashed beneath, made mourning difficult for those closest to the deceased.

It seemed an unfortunate thing, then, that the Council chambers had been filled with anxious deliberations; the busiest room in the castle since the assassination as the reverence that was normally held to was shattered in a panic for the future.

A heated debate filled the air, the natural resonance bouncing every word back and forth like swarms of angry bees above their heads. It had been no more than six hours since the Sovereign was killed, and not a wink of sleep had been taken by any, adding further to the highly strung atmosphere as long time colleagues and even friends tore at each other's throats. Rising from their seats around the chamber, they would point and deride, slamming down one idea after the other, even the brightest of them lost for what to do.

The King gone, and Queen long dead as well, the only one left was their young Princess; standing and ignoring all but the sight of the blood stained table in the cordoned off atrium to the side.

She could hear the raised voices, the panic and despair, but none of the words reached her pointed ears with sense. Zelda refused to mentally register the foolish and desperate ideas of the Council, clamoring in the hopes of replacing her Father's natural leadership. An entire room of aged men could not even hold a candle to the blood of the Royal family, and the minds born of it.

But as she stood in the atrium where her Father met his untimely end, fingers twisting into the dress she had worn at the Gala, Zelda no longer felt the woman she was proud to be. The table seemed to take up the whole room to her, filling up the space impossibly with the sick reddish brown stain upon it, glaring back at her with stark contrast to everything else. It was almost overwhelming, and before it she simply felt lost and small, like she did the day her mother died.

A child, left without a parent—it was a simple and powerful thing, a feeling of being truly alone; no matter how many friends one could claim, or other family members that remained, the loss of both parents was a truly isolating thing. A heavy pressure upon the soul, as if it were made of glass, cracking and shattering… Or perhaps, a lack of one, leaving a gap like a hole burnt in fabric, a cold wind whistling though. Zelda wasn't entirely sure which, but it seemed both had occurred with each parent, even across the divide of which one she supposedly favored more—she may claim to have loved her father less, but now that she would not see, speak to, touch him again… the difference seemed almost nonexistent. But, orphaned as that eternal child in her was, the Princess had a hard time reconciling the reemergence of a broken youth so suddenly, crisp and confronting to demand attention. Never could she simply be that girl again; there was no allowance for it between the woman Zelda was seen as and the Queen she needed to be.

The last vestiges of her own childhood, stolen and burned… How useless she felt now in retrospect, wasting so much time. Precious time, that could not be recovered once lost.

Every afternoon in the gardens, every lesson skipped, every sour thought she'd held for the King. The months of his life she'd made hell, abandoning him after her mother's passing; the way she'd once again, let him slip through her fingers last night, miffed by the man's inability to understand her. A small sob chocked in her throat as she swallowed it down, blinking back against glassy eyes, fists balling into her dress.

She realized now that his understanding of her was not what mattered—she only needed, and only ever wanted, his love… Something she knew now she had always held; made clear as the distractions of her life were put aside in mourning.

_I never wanted you to leave,_ she lamented inside, tracing the bloodstain for the thousandth time as if staring at it long enough may reverse it; _I know I may have left you behind… but Father, I am your child, I am meant to leave you sometime! I tried for years to reach you, holding out my hand, and not once did you turn around to meet me…_ Her hand was withdrawn, a sorrowful frown upon her features as Zelda cradled her arm close to her chest._ What of my future now, the child you never thought could be a worthy heir, left to this empty throne as if I know what is to be done? You…You can't…just leave me behind like you did mother…It isn't fair!_

Crystalline eyes closed tightly against the sight, her head twisting away as if she'd been slapped. _Why couldn't you see me? Why live so blind to the only person in the entire country who needed you the most? Instead you placed all of your attentions, when finally they came, on a boy who deceived you; killed you! Reaching out to him with the hand I've needed you to extend me my entire life! He didn't need your mercy father, I did…! _A gloved hand reached out hopelessly, satin as a barrier between her fingers and the stain.

"…You… would really redeem yourself… in a stranger, before me? Nurture them, forgive them their transgressions and give a choice in their future… a chance to change things, be accepted and the best they could be… before your own daughter? Did I not matter enough, or had you simply given up on me?" She whispered, lonely and forgotten as the spark left her eyes.

"…How many regrets have you placed upon your own shoulders within your life? I might wish you peace, but I know… You shall never have it now. Were it not for Sheik, I may as well have curled up and died alone to save the trouble of an entire existence like that… you would've destroyed me, here today, setting yourself up for death like that. I warned you Father, did I not warn you…?"

Clenching her fists tightly, the white of her knuckles became clear, the Princess bristling with things he would never hear. But in her grieving anger, something broke inside, the shards of it falling into the pit of her stomach and settling there, useless. Gloved fingers, trembling, unfurled from the tormented dress. Knitted brows released their tension to form a sorrowful curve. A breath she'd been holding without realizing was released.

There was no point anymore. The past she shared with the King was inaccessible now, and only a terse future made up of remnants and memory remained. He was gone.

A heavy hand came to grip her shoulder, and Zelda flinched, torn from her reverie with a sharp intake of breath. She hadn't expected to be disturbed, despite the cacophony beyond the small archway. Tilting her head upward to look, her attendant stood above her, crimson eyes tracing her face and taking note of the emotions. After a moment, he softened, his thumb stroking her shoulder comfortingly.

Ganondorf's brow twitched as he spoke a memory, told to him in his youth. "Let the dead rest, Zelda… Grief and unvoiced hurts are burdens for the living, not those passed. You'll forge monstrosities if you allow your sorrow and bitterness to taint the spirits."

Her bare feet shifted upon the stone floor, toes curling ever so slightly as she considered these words. Again, Sheik had appeared to say something profound and settle her once again—_I suppose that alone is proof enough of his role in my life, _she thought concededly, _without him, with these little moments of strength, I may well run myself into the grave in my dirge of self pity and sorrow. _A tiny and broken smile twitched her lips, icy pink a shade lighter for the paling of her face, and a nod was given. Though Zelda's gaze returned to the stain all the same, fidgeting hands took to the one on her shoulder, pulling it down to cling to it as her cheek nuzzled the side of his forearm.

"They won't let me see the body." She breathed quietly, knowing that he would hear here even with the chaos of the Council behind. "The last I saw of him was where I left him after my performance… I need to see him again."

A faint squeeze was given to his hand, bitten down nails scratchy upon the skin they swept, but innocuous as it was the Gerudo did not miss the desperate plead behind it—she was holding it in so well, a myriad of emotion that occurred with death around her. But this time, there would be no running down the halls. No spirited tantrum or unabated tears. He had toughened her to them now, and hardened her heart to reign in such weakness. He had cut her, struck her, whipped her; bound her body in rope and made her struggle to stand, pushing her to the ground without mercy and ordering she return to her feet, only to do it again. He'd drawn out her breakdowns and kept them at arms length, restrained… pushed her breaking point far beyond what even she had expected, until it was now nigh unreachable save for those who knew exactly where to find it—such as him.

Never was Zelda allowed to feel too strongly, be it happiness or anger, sadness or lust, save only for when he allowed it.

Ganondorf couldn't help but be proud that before him now, glassed eyes aside, she'd not shed a tear… and yet the night before, disappointing him had indeed seen one fall. It was the cherry on top to a wonderful night, and these little rewards with her never seemed to cease. Tiny gestures and affirmations gave meaning to the waiting game he played and helped him to endure the years, staying patient and in control. As she grew stronger, so too, did he—while Zelda set them up, Ganondorf knocked them down, and in that he found a poetic beauty.

"You shall see him when the body is again presentable, my Sweet… I think your Father would not wish your eyes to be fouled by such a sight as he is now." He soothed, tailoring a smirk into something of comfort. _What with the look of horror on his face, you may well see my image burned into his retina,_ he cackled inwardly.

Leaning down some, Ganondorf allowed his nose to breeze a lock of her now somewhat disheveled hair, whispering softly with a parental tone. "For now, perhaps it is simply best we leave and find a more restful atmosphere. You've been here for quite some time already, and nothing good will come of dwelling upon what cannot be changed." He offered, drawing his hand out of hers to grip the sides of her arms gently, as if trying to pull her away.

Zelda sighed, exhaling with a sound that showed her fatigue clearly. "…I hate not being able to do anything, you know that…" She mused sadly, remorseful. "It feels like all I _can_ do is dwell here. Assure all my memories of him are preserved, and that nothing is wasted of the life he had, despite everything else… I've signed so many things this morning alone; I didn't even read half of it or know what it was for…. I've made so many permanent decisions already. It scares me to think of what the rest of the day will hold."

As she allowed herself to be moved along, turning with her attendant to walk away, Zelda felt all the energy sapped from her. "I can't stand the way the all turned to me with that helpless look in their eyes, like all of a sudden I had replaced my Father completely." Her head lolled against his arm with a stifled yawn, eyelids dropping slightly. "I hardly wear shoes of my own, let alone his."

Ganondorf paused, giving a brief scan to the chamber ahead—the Council hadn't even noticed the Princess was still among them in their debating, paper scattered over the floor and open books and scrolls being torn apart and pointed to feverously. In the corner, he had left his recent favorite, seeing now that the tome had been picked up as intended. The wiry old man who sat there reading it though thinly framed spectacles would stumble across his right to regency soon enough, scouring through the pages as he was, tapping a blunt dagger upon the desk with a rhythmic concentration.

_If he can dig up all that information on bird people, he can find that passage, _the Gerudo thought, pleased with himself now for making the old scholar's acquaintance.

Glancing down at the Princess, he saw the little girl from the festival flashing across her irises, small and fragile as it was exposed by vulnerability. He pitied that, and old habits of their dynamic from when she was younger seemed to reemerge in response, knowing what might comfort—it was also practical, as he could simply take Zelda elsewhere for the moment without the risk of her collapsing from exhaustion. In fact, if he took her to her rooms to sleep, that would buy him some good time and privacy to get on with his dealings. Rolling his broad shoulders, Ganondorf knelt, remembering the face she used to make after training when she wished to be carried, and took to wrapping her arms around his neck.

Zelda blinked, not expecting the open hint of affection, but allowed him to sweep her off aching feet and be held in powerful arms. It had been over a year since he'd last carried her like this; crystalline eyes shimmering with nostalgia and awe as a new appreciation for it was born. Even with new height since those days, the floor seemed so far below her when lifted into his arms like this. A slight blush of embarrassment caught her in it, though, as the Princess buried a warm smile in his neck to hide it—she must've looked so strange to be taken up like she had as a child, now that she was certainly past it, legs dangling to his knees under bunched and tussled skirts.

"..Don't you think I'm a little old to be carried?" She asked tiredly, voice muffled against his shoulder as golden tresses fell like curtains to cover her charmed expression. Secretly, she marveled again at his strength as even without sleep, he held her weight effortlessly.

Ganondorf chuckled lightly, inclining his head to her though unable to see her face clearly. "You are. But, I will make an exception for you, Zelda, as always." He purred, gaze tracing the light curls of her hair as they bounced to his steps. "…And I'll punch anybody who protests, as always." He smirked, adjusting her slightly.

A tiny giggle came as reward, small and frail, a sleepy sway to her body as he moved. Gloved hands came to idly toy with the long braid at the nape of his thick neck as time seemed to reverse for this moment. Largely unnoticed by the bothered men of the Council, the pair simply slipped through the thick of them like ghosts, caught in their own little world once again, as shadows to the light. Though the large doors, they did indeed seem to enter a different world entirely, the noise and worry left behind them with the shunting click as it closed—the hallway was empty and silent, eerie if not for the contrasting peaceful calm.

The reticence was welcome within the long journey to the Children's wing, where he and the Princess still kept Quarters, despite Zelda's protest to it recently. Crimson eyes wandered during this time to take in the details of the castle that had changed within his mind; the suits of armour that stood lifeless at the sides, backed by tapestries, now seemed to be filled with the memory of Shiro. Ganondorf could imagine the resentment in those brown eyes, and with every statue he remembered the soldiers that came before him, of which Shiro had likely been descended—in the days of old, after failing to gain the Spiritual stones, his siege upon the castle had been one of surprise, frustrations in diplomacy swiftly turned into attrition.

A small army of Gerudo warriors at his side had marched through these walls, tearing down even the boldest men before them, cutting a path to the King and tearing down everything in search of the Ocarina. The few knights that had sworn to protect the King and Princess fell easily before his blade, dark magics taking their toll; it was as child's play to the infamous and ruthless Gerudo King, even before the gift of Din's Blessing. But the battle here that was fought to truly earn its memory in history was in fact the one between men and beasts.

Monstrous in appearance and number, the Hylian guard had faced an onslaught of pure malice that day. They came unrelentingly, from every shadow and crevice, roaring like the flames of Hell to drag the soldiers to early graves. Foaming at the mouth, vicious claws and jagged teeth by the thousands were sent at his behest to deal with the peons below, tearing through them like so many knives through butter, butchering those brave men beyond recognition. They fought to the end, though, he recalled; screams to match the roars, spears to the flash of teeth and swords drawn to face those awful claws. Men of honor, valor, and every one a valiant soul lost to misfortune—if only they hadn't fought so loyally, and surrendered when it was clear they had lost…

But then, men who would do so to be salvageable, he realized, would not warrant so much of his attention.

The soldiers that gave their lives that day were men Ganondorf could easily respect, despite their foolishness, and every time he recounted the sight of their broken bodies, torn asunder and strewn beneath his steed's hooves as he chased the Princess from her home, the back of his neck itched with the prospect of those men in his service; opportunity lost. Men like that were few and far between in this era… And those that did remain were just as opposed to him as the last.

Shiro Viscen had reminded him, then, of the lone soldier who had stepped forth to face him—after the Knights were slain, and many soldiers lay dead or dying, the very last of them had come once more to push aside the corpse of another and stand on weary legs, defiant by the stables. One feeble man to stand between the Gerudo and the Princess, as Impa swept the child up onto a white stallion, buying them precious little seconds. That soldier hadn't even received so much as a glance from him back then, felled neatly by a single stab as the knife he'd since gifted Zelda was thrust through his torso. But had that one man not stood, unnamed and unknown, perhaps he may have reached the Princess in time to stop them fleeing, and torn that accursed Ocarina from her trembling hands.

_Such a waste,_ he thought, remembrance drawing to a close as he entered the hallway to Zelda's quarters; _but every one of them threw themselves onto their blades, in that sense, and there is no helping it now. If they stand against me, no matter how much value they garner, they will pay dearly for their defiance. _Even so, good armies were hard come by, and the soldiers of today sickened him with how unlike their forefathers they were, save only for one thus far.

As the two came before her door, Zelda stirred lightly, tugging at the loose white fabric serving as the Shiekah's collar. She seemed hesitant, and through the thin material over his shoulder, Ganondorf could feel her mouth move to ghost the words before they came.

"How… did he look?" Came the small and distant question. "…What I mean to say… is… How was he killed… exactly?" She murmured, tensing some at the sound of her door being opened.

The disguised Gerudo paused, hand resting upon the brass handle, reflecting upon the murder—a twisted smile flirted with his mouth, but seeing it all so clearly replayed within his mind's eye, he related the truth. "Run through with a sword, actually… Impressive, considering the breastplate; Ornamental though it was, it was quite a blow to pierce it, let alone stab into the table beneath." He offered simply, crossing the threshold.

The Princess frowned in a bemused and thoughtful way; a light twitch in her knees as her mind took that in, remembering the aftermath she'd studied. There were few men she knew with the strength to do that, and Link wasn't one of them, despite how well he did against Sheik in the sparring match.

"…That seems… odd, considering Link has a technique based fighting style and not one of brute force…" She queried vaguely, drawing her head back to peer at him as the door was closed behind.

Ganondorf sensed suddenly the detail had spurred some suspicion, non-threatening though they were—unfortunately for Zelda, as keen as her mind was, he was one better and had already planned ahead to counter such a question. As a matter of fact, his explanation for this had been given already to others, as Ganondorf had since helped the King's body be moved to the Royal Coroner—in which he'd also managed to snatch a sample of the King's hair and blood on the sly, placing them in a small vial for later.

With a curt nod, he grimaced lightly, as if a bit confused himself. "Yes, in fact, I thought much the same when I stumbled upon the scene. Discounting the boy's blade being the murder weapon, initially, the angle at which it entered you father's body and stuck fast into the wood took me by surprise… I didn't automatically think he had done it." He lied, careful in the dim light not to trip over the loose rug.

"But then when he mentioned Badon, trying to sway blame, I recalled the last strike the boy made in the final round. The downward thrust was a killing blow, and despite Link's general styles, it had a massive amount of force behind it…"

They came close to the bed, and with an easy movement, Zelda found herself deposited as he leaned down to place her gently. Puzzling, she did indeed remember that move, and began to nod. "Yes, it embedded his sword halfway into packed dirt…" She recalled, tucking her feet up and away from the cold air to be warmed upon her sheets. "It took them a good fifteen minutes to remove it; the officials had to dig it out some… But given that he was trying to frame Badon, I suppose imitating his strength would make sense as well."

Ganondorf turned his body slowly, sitting with a lazy movement upon the side of her bed, leaning elbows on his knees as he stared ahead to scan the dark room. "It did, yes, and unfortunately for Link, he repeated that same move upon the King. Valenzuela simply doesn't fit that movement. I figured it out as we were running after the phantom killer, and realized he had fooled me… I'm only sorry I didn't take him seriously enough as a threat currently; my thoughts were on you and your future with him in your employ, not your father." He forced a sigh, shaking his head remorsefully and gauging her reaction with his peripheral vision.

Zelda, leaning to the side and resting weight upon her hand, gave a saddened smile. "You did what you could… Link has been captured and there's… little point dwelling upon what cannot be changed, as you said." But her reassuring tone lost its softness then, the care in her eyes doused as they became cold. "…But that in mind, I have thought about your proposition and feel I am ready to go ahead with it."

_Ah, there it is, _the Gerudo thought with a little ember of victory flaring in his chest; _I knew that would tip her over the edge. _

Straightening to peer at her with seriousness, biceps tensing in anticipation, he addressed he quietly, not wanting his own voice to spoil what was about to come with hers. "So, then…" He started, suppressing the grin. "I will train you in the art of death."

Resolute, the Princess gave a tiny pause, eyes cast down to her lap as if quickly rethinking it over and nodding when she found no change. "Yes. I need to protect myself, and this whole ordeal only shows how vulnerable the Crown is to attack, even with a Shiekah present… I want you to train me not only in the ways of the Shiekah, but as one. I want to know I can kill if it comes to it, and I want to make sure that I don't fail you in what we face together."

Ganondorf couldn't help himself then, as the light bubble of laughter came a rumbling chuckle, hinting at how much he was enjoying himself—seeing his Zelda with that flame in her eyes, the cold sparkle of hate that would enable her to fight what was to be her 'Hero'. The words had passed her lips so easily, yet with such power, tangible in the air between them; believed with all of her heart. This saint, angelic and holy, doomed by memories lost to reincarnation as he snatched her away from her ancestors; twisting her mind and heart until they could not claim the divinity of those before her. She was slowly becoming like him—blessed and gifted, acknowledged by Gods, but torn so far from them in the journey to such things.

His dark Princess that did not fear the shadows of hatred and vengeance, but in fact, allowed for and embraced them as he did… How valiantly she fought and trained against everything she was at heart; struggled every step of the way to change her own destiny at his whim alone. Slowly, in a twist of irony, he was beginning to see in her traits of Sheik—the actual Sheik, whom he had employed for their seemingly brutal and tactful ways of getting things done with clinical detachment.

Zelda though it may have turned out to be, Sheik was a warrior the woman could never have had the heart to become, even while seeing through to the end what she thought was right. Innocents killed for the greater good, Kakariko burning to the ground as Sheik stood and watched, waiting as the monster of the well came forth… even dropping the egg that would hatch a demon in the waters of Lake Hylia. Zelda would never do these things, but Sheik had allowed her to do what needed to be done in order to reach the Hero and secure victory in the end. Zelda had been the one to teach the Hero crucial melodies, and in those moments Sheik was merely superficial. But the Gerudo knew without a doubt that the true essence of Sheik—the person Zelda was when she couldn't be herself, absent from her own body at those times—was born of her anger and regret, a shield of her own darkness to protect the Princess from the evil wrought in order to draw Link out.

Sheik alone, held a heart as black as the Gerudo's own… and it was that person, stolen back by both himself and this Zelda, which would be twisted into being once again.

"Then, if you are certain, we will start as soon as this business with your Father is sorted… How does after the funeral proceeding suit you? We'll take a break until then so that you can mourn and affairs can be organized accordingly." He offered with a genuine, albeit sinister minded smile, the light rise of thick brows prompting a casual air to alleviate pressuring her into an answer.

Zelda took a moment to answer, taking hold of the tips of her fingers and tugging lightly to remove the lengthy gloves, sliding them off of her arms with an accepting sort of hum. Setting the satin gloves aside, she leaned to place them on the side table negligently, flicking her wrist with a slight toss.

"That sounds fair… I would prefer to start immediately, perhaps even tonight… but then I wouldn't be taking into consideration the stresses of the next few days…" She conceded, turning to flash him a small smile before rolling to flop on her stomach, sprawled tiredly. "…It's a scary thought really… Things without my Father here…"

Ganondorf allowed his gaze to sweep her form, easily spying the curves hidden beneath the tussled dress, and his hand autonomously seemed to float over to her back to settle there. "Why is that, my Sweet…?" He mused absently, bandaged fingers idly unpicking the strings keeping her dress closed.

Zelda paid this no mind, even shifting with a lazy sweep to catch her hair at the nape of her neck, pulling it aside for him to continue unhindered. "We've always worried for the affects of his business upon me, and not letting myself truly be altered or swayed by the Council's opinions, and such…" She sighed, somewhat dreamily. "But those things have always been buffered by the fact that… really… they were not imposed upon me directly, you see. Now, without father here, it feels as if I'll bare the brunt of it… Grooming a queen, truly, contains far more than just lessons in etiquette and some scorn for undesirable habits."

"Perhaps…" Ganondorf purred, enjoying the sight of hems falling away from loosened stings. "But again, I will do all in my power to shield you from such things, as I always have… We'll play along and get by."

The Princess twitched, suddenly somewhat annoyed as she climbed upon elbows to stare back at him. "No, Sheik. I'll not live as some wind-up doll to twirl to the tune of others. If I am going to be crowned earlier than expected, I'll do so as the woman I am, whether they like that or not. It's not as if they have a choice in the matter, and far be it from any noble to tell their Queen to put her shoes back on." She spat, fire in her eyes as a fist beat softly against the feather pillow in emphasis.

"You're quite adamant about your footwear, aren't you just?" The Gerudo teased, the hint of a snicker in his voice. "Not wearing your shoes; wearing the King's shoes… You are most certainly female."

"Oh, get off. You know what I mean." She chastised with a roll of her eyes, grabbing the pillow and slamming it down over her head to hide her smile in a huff—he wasn't allowed to see it, the opportunistic git; this was serious.

A naughty grin broke free with a full blown snigger, amused as the disguised Gerudo was with the girl. "Yes, yes, I know… still, what you need right now is some sleep. You'll go mad, at this rate, twenty four hours up and all this chaos in between." He leaned forward, tugging at the fabric on her shoulders and pulling it away. Zelda wriggled some to accommodate, relieved of it as she was slowly left in her petticoat.

Ganondorf clicked his fingers commandingly, as the fabric bunched at her hips. "Up." He ordered, and with groan, Zelda lifted herself some to be freed of the dress. The Gerudo sighed some, moving her legs for her as he wrangled the fabric off of them with a click of his tongue. "Bad form, Zelda. A lethargic child is a servant to—"

"To the beast, I know…" She replied, the tone making it evident he'd worn that one thin. She felt the bed shift as his weight was removed from it to stand, though made no move herself, settled into a comfortable position. "You were likely just as lethargic as I, at my age." She retorted, voice muffled.

Pausing at this, the Gerudo gave a quick thought to how accurate that was. "…Well, I would have _liked_ to be as lethargic as you…" He muttered, a bit envious as he recalled his youth. "But your lethargic days are numbered, so I'll let it slide."

"Thank you ever so much, you kind and wonderful man." She drawled with thick sarcasm from beneath the pillow.

Scrunching up the fine material of the dress with no respect to its care, Ganondorf tossed it at her as he turned to leave, making her twitch but causing little else. "Get some sleep." He chided, grimacing as he made his way with a slow gait to the door.

Zelda removed the pillow then with a negligent movement, turning her head with a squished cheek to watch him leave. "…Come back soon, please…" She called quietly, suddenly sounding small once again. "You're all I have, now… More than ever…"

The disguised Gerudo glanced back at her from her doorway, crimson eyes catching the light of outside as it creaked open. "You are never out of my reach, Zelda. You know that already." And with that he left her with a tiny smile upon her face, stepping through into the hall and closing the door behind.

Standing for a moment outside of the Princess' chambers, Ganondorf looked up to the grand windows, seeing that dawn had broken and the orange sun was beginning its climb above the jagged mountain ranges. Though the sky was brightening, a light fog would likely roll in over the rest of the morning, a shower pattering against the panes. Taking the sight in, he mentally gauged how long it would be before he was called upon with the news of his regency—and how much time he had to play with in between.

Pulling his collar forward and reaching in, he retrieved the small vial containing royal hair and blood—a sacrifice was always needed for summoning, and he hoped this would suffice, having killed the king himself not more than six hours ago. The use of one's own blood provided a weak link and often caused some hallucination if it worked at all, but sacrificing another was the only way to ensure a successful connection without symptom. The only catch was he needed to move quickly, for the short window was closing; if of course, it was still open at all.

Closing a fist around the glass lightly, the Gerudo turned quickly, stalking down the way to his own chambers. He couldn't waste this opportunity, and loathe as he was to do it in the castle, he hadn't the time or resource to get away with it elsewhere.

Bursting into his own rooms, the door was slammed quickly, feet taking him across to the vanity with haste. Ganondorf all but ripped the draws open, gathering up the things needed, and taking the incense bowl from a side table. Bounding strides took him to the stone window sill, the Gerudo dropping to a knee as his effects were set up quickly. The bowl was laid down, incense removed though the smoke of it lingered; into it was cracked the vial, spilling its contents like the yolk of an egg. A small sack was taken up from the sill, purple and no bigger than a finger, spilling a shimmering dust, and the leaves of various plants were added with concentration.

Moving the bowl onto the floor, the curtains were quickly drawn, and sparing a suspicious perusal of his chambers, Ganondorf nodded to himself in certainty that there would be no witness.

With a deep breath, the guise faded once again; silvery hair regaining violent red hue, the pigment of his skin darkening as if devoured by shadow. The points of his ears receded and slowly opening his eyes, they were lit up by golden embers once more, the magic of his guise relinquished for his full disposal. Ganondorf clapped his hands together, rubbing them as his mind searched for the nexus of dark magic he'd ignored for too long. As finally, he brought one forward to hover over the small clay bowl, the incantation ran through his mind, igniting the magic in his veins and casing fingers to twitch with electric sensations.

"I call upon thee, Sisters TwinRova… Answer your King."

With a violent crackle, a purple flame leapt to life within the bowl, an unholy smoke wisping across the air and filling the Gerudo's nose with the sickly sweet scent; a chill seeping into the room around him like the claws of death itself. As the smoke took form, writhing and twisting before him as it rose, a haze of violet grey, some semblance of apparition began to emerge. Within the light of the enchanting flames, the dark smirk took Ganondorf's face once more as the visages of the witches, long passed, stared back at him from the realm of the immaterial.

Every detail of the witches faces were remade within the smoke—every deep wrinkle, every line and wart, the hawkish curve of already large noses grown longer with age; it were as if Ganondorf could almost reach out and touch them. _Good, _he thought acquisitively, _I knew the King's blood would herald a strong link to the nether._

"Ehehehee… How good it is to see the Prodigal Son is well, Kotake…"

"Ohohoho…. Indeed it is, Koume… How promising as well…"

Both of the hags seemed to focus upon him then, peering at the Gerudo man with large, hollow eyes that seemed to bulge from withered sockets. "What do you desire of us, Lord Ganondorf?" They spoke in unison.

The corner of his mouth twitched, golden eyes squinting with a harsh and business like gleam. "I do not have much time. Tell me, without hesitation or duplicity, the circumstances of my birth. I wish to know of this… demon… of which I share relation." He hissed, disregarding any pleasantries of reunion.

Sparing a glance at each other, the witches seemed to shrink back at such a request, even from their great leader of the past. Ice-like hair shimmering wild as she spoke, Kotake was the first to break the silence, the crone's voice coming with a low and reluctant tone.

"You recall the tale we told you of as a boy?" She asked, tilting her head with an audible titter. "As we said then, you are our surrogate child; miracle born."

"Conceived of your mother, and birthed by we two… You always were so curious, even young, sticking your nose into all of our scrolls. Such a natural talent…"

"An inherited talent, to be sure, Koume."

"But not ours to claim, of course, Kotake."

Ganondorf grit his teeth, fingertips digging into his knees impatiently as he sat waiting. "Spit it out, hags. I haven't time for your bickering or your nostalgia… I'll be taking the throne any time now, and I need this information to proceed."

With a unified nod, the witches relented calmly, unaffected by their Master's temper—indeed they remembered it very well. Koume glowed with an ethereal tone, the fire of her hair rolling fluidly as she continued in her sister's stead.

"The demon you speak of is an ancient and powerful King among the Hells… Known in legends as the Imprisoned, though the tales are scarce." She spoke slowly, chewing the words behind almost toothless gums.

"Indeed, even in our youth, he was but a myth, heard of only by avid scholars of history… To those who found enough, he could be known to mortal kind as Demise." Kotake continued, a sly sense of knowing to the tilt of her head.

The two of them tittered together, speaking again in unison as the witches eyed him strangely. "Your body is of your mother, but we are the ones to reforge your soul in his name."

Ganondorf scowled deeply, sick of the crones already; he had all but forgotten how the two could aggravate him so. "I've got the concept of your surrogacy… Explain to me how in 'reforging my soul', a curse came to fruition. How exactly does that apply to me?" He growled low, taking to rapping his fingers in frustration. "Am I merely a puppet of this greater 'King'?"

"A puppet, no, you are yourself; the Great Ganondorf… but you do derive many traits from his." Kotake offered plainly, a motherly sort of reassurance to her tone. She gave a wary expression to her sister, who in turn, chose her wording carefully.

"In many senses, you are a reincarnate of his essence—demonic, yes. However, you are also burdened by the blood of men, and thus, a mortal heart and mind. These natures sometimes conflict within you, and so you've a greater burden than most Gerudo Kings to carry."

Undilated pupils seemed to sharpen with memory, and the smoke began to fashion the image of a healthy and unremarkable Gerudo woman; easily lost among many sisters. Ganondorf blinked, furrowing heavy brows as he watched this woman riding upon a grand stallion, sands whipping about its mighty hooves. His chest tightened some, an odd and long forgotten feeling, as recognition stung the depths of his being.

The collective voices of the witches rang out around him eerily, implacable in origin. "You would not remember much of your mother, child, would you?"

Taken aback, the terse dynamic that had been held began to slip as golden eyes watched the simplistic imagery. They wavered with an uncertainty, memories trying to come together within an aged mind, but little came of it. For a long time, Ganondorf had treasured the memory of his true mother, the stoic and resilient woman she was, even for a mother so young—it shocked him now to realize that, after so very long and so much in between, he had lost those precious few memories.

He almost felt as if he stood in the midst of a mighty sandstorm, watching everything he had known blow away until nothing remained of a time when he was… _No, never innocent, not truly, _he dismissed it, _but perhaps… more naïve._

"…No…" He conceded, his mouth drawing thin. "…I do not."

The vision shifted once again, the smoke seeming to burst outward before coalescing into a new scene with grace; the horseback archery range, he recalled clearly, and through it the apparition of his young mother rode with skill, hitting every target with a deadly accuracy that brought a small smirk of pride to the Gerudo's face—and she did it with a sizably pregnant stomach.

"She was as common as the sands of our home. A gifted archer, perhaps, but her true skills lay in crafting stories to entertain the young…" Koume relayed with a fond tone, remembering the child.

"…But she was foolish in her first experience as a mother, not allowing herself the rest she required… Many risks had proven previous pregnancies unsuccessful, and we had been called upon before to remove the unborn from her, dead. A reckless child indeed, Koume…" Kotake chided, giving a slight 'tsk' in memory.

"…Reckless, Kotake, perhaps… but spirited and strong, as any Gerudo should be. Only a pity she did not understand the fragility of her condition while expecting."

But, there before her, a child running out into her path; the woman saw the small girl, panic sweeping across an otherwise stone-like façade, the smoke circling to show her pulling back hard upon the reins. Her stallion, in shock, reared back to avoid the child, but his mother instead took the fall. Thrown from her steed she hit the red earth with a terrifying force, scored by rocks and bleeding through the scrapes upon copper skin. Her face contorted in pain, auburn hair tussled across her features, as the woman curled up helplessly in the dust.

"Whatever her nature, it could only be called fate." They echoed, the words sinking into Ganondorf's ears with a sense of resolution.

He could see her sisters running out to her, taking in every detail spared—the way they moved, so swift and agile, made for battle as hair in shades of red whipped wildly behind like manes of fire. Within the minute, a small crowd had come to his mother's aid, but it seemed too late for her child; the vast amounts of blood about her groin could attest to the loss.

"Again, we were called out to see that the mother was salvaged, and the unborn removed safely from her." Kotake ruminated, her disembodied voice sounding somewhat disappointed.

"But unlike before… The child she bore was not that of a daughter, was it, Kotake?"

"No, sadly not, Koume. Upon that day, as we inspected her, she indeed carried a son."

Ganondorf twitched at that, not liking where this was headed. An expression of pathos and confusion took him over, not quite a scowl, but clearly evident discomfort as he slowly took in what this meant. Ignoring the twist of concern in his stomach, his fingers rapped faster upon the taut material he wore. "You really expect me to accept that I died in the womb?" He jeered, feeling an old anger rise forth.

The smoke simply twisted in response, showing the witches as they appraised his mother. He saw the faces of the other Gerudo, standing around in a room of the fortress, staring at each other with shocked faces and worried eyes. There upon a slab of stone, his mother screamed and cried, tugging helplessly at her auburn locks as they sat mussed and slick with sweat. The crones circled her, holding hands to her stomach and causing her great pain in doing so as their magic invaded her form. She would twist and writhe, as if trying to escape it, but allowed the continuous assault to go ahead.

"Accept it or not, Lord Ganondorf, it is the truth. You ordered there to be no duplicity, and what you see and hear before you is as it was." Koume soothed, her phantom breath close to his ear, deathly cold.

"You were lost to us that day, but we were resourceful in our age. Drastic measures were taken to preserve you, child, and from your mother's very bones we stole you, taking your flesh unto ourselves." Kotake went on to explain, her voice colder than her sisters, though factual in tone.

The vision shifted once more with a miasmic haze, wisps highlighted to provide the image of the witches combined; bearing in his mother's stead a full and pregnant state. The softer tone of Koume returned to him, the ghostly feeling of a hand settled upon his shoulder.

"We bore you within our combined form, incubating the feeble remains of your form, employing the forbidden arts of fleshcraft and necromancy to ensure that your body survived. We sacrificed our own energies for yours, entering near comatose states of meditative concentration, though we were successful in our task."

Kotake seemed to sigh, regaining her frustrations of the time. "And yet, your soul was a still fleeting thing, fragile and immaculate, so hard to contain… You had lost so much of yourself to the nether, and though ritual and dark practice kept it within reach, it grew weaker every day. After one week of intense sacrament, we had managed to secure a tether between your soul and body, though it was clear that you would grow unstable within the first few years if left be; body breaking down and a madness taking your mind to leave it hollow as you came undone. We had exhausted all of our options before finally turning our attentions to the nether itself, in the hopes of providing substitute in exchange for your safe return."

The Gerudo King nearly flinched, leaning back with a chill down his spine as the haze contorted into that of nightmares with a cacophony of deathly, withering wails. Within it he could see splayed the Hells in all their form; neither glimpses nor hints as the darkest spells sometimes bore, but the vision of a real and terrible many things. In the smoke they swirled and screeched, whirring out about his head like so many demons, sensing something of their kin in the man and clawing out at him from the beyond.

"What answered our call was weak itself… a faint and fading line within the nexus, unique in signature. But, what was there, child, was a very potent and stable magic. An ancient and powerful magic that we knew would not breakdown once applied, and taking it into ourselves to examine it, we found its pattern to be compatible in your design." Koume told with an audibly mad smile, her face taking form within the miasmic smoke once again in horrendous detail.

"Once in, we could not stop it. What was weak became strong, ravenous, and latched onto you as if with a hunter's teeth." Kotake tittered, a sinister amusement in her eyes as her visage, too, returned. "Indeed, what came forth to bind you and make you whole again, child, was the fragmented essence of Demise. Your body became as a host for his intentions and power, the very last remnant of the Demon infused within your soul. Do not fear or worry for this… He cannot control you or puppeteer you, Lord Ganondorf…"

"No, how could it, Kotake, when what was, became what is." Koume agreed with a wry and near toothless smile. "It is merely another facet of our King, absorbed and hewn into his mind and body, an asset; the very stitching that keeps him intact. His legacy was inherited, but his entity is gone… Only Lord Ganondorf remains to make use of it as he will, drawing strength from it as he lives and breathes."

The crone sent a look of wonder to the Gerudo then, pausing to appreciate once more the remarkable being he was. "You have drawn from his malice in your own life, and allowed the Demon's odium to fuel you; appeasing it by fulfilling the internal wish of torment upon the descendants of his enemies… your enemies."

The two witches cackled with an unholy sound, a perverted sense of pride in remembrance of their achievement. "And you were born a miracle among us, healthy and strong an infant, with your sisters and mother none the wiser!" They cried with dark glee.

But despite the mood of his surrogate mothers, Ganondorf sat in a tense and reflective silence. His pensive fingers had stilled now, the information settling within the whirlwind of his mind to ring true. Coldly, his golden gaze lifted to catch the apparitions within a glare. "…Fleshcraft… upon an infant… unborn, and already passing…" Left his lips a rasped whisper, the usual rich timbre replaced by an icy and scathing tone. "You know better. To raise the dead and twist living flesh through the channels of the dead is to defy the Gods designs; heinous in the manner which it defiles its subjects… Especially ones as pure as infants." He spat, a rare moment in which his sense of self worth seemed to plummet within himself.

"And yet, when returned to your mother, the Gerudo proclaimed you a miracle by Din's Grace." They countered, smiling with wicked glints in their smoky gazes.

"A lie that you allowed them to believe, Hags!" He hissed, fingers clenching tight to form fists as his nails dug into his flesh, threatening to draw blood. "You may well have damned us all in your perversions of me!"

"A lie that you made the truth, Lord Ganondorf." Was the unified reply, given so simply, as if it were obvious even to the blind. "Din has always looked fondly upon you, for the role that you play... Nobody else could sustain them, necessary though they are."

Kotake drew forward within the haze, eyeing her King with the sort of chastising look she often gave him when he crawled about her collection of scrolls as a boy, unfurling them and reading without permission or respect for the age of such things. "You have on the back of your hand the very proof of Divine favor, child. These things are ordained in the stars, in the balances of this world, to occur in natural orders… You may inherit the Demon's spite, but think of it merely as a sword that you have taken up, once belonging to an ancestor. If it were not meant to be, to aid you in your fight, your poor mother would not have been tossed from her horse in the first instance, and our actions would not have fallen into place."

Koume cackled some, approaching to side her sister with amusement, her nostrils flaring slightly with her breathing. "Listen well to her, child. Homunculus though you are, it is a natural make up you bare... Human flesh forged, and born with a fresh soul… these are things forged of Din's Will as she watches after our kind's existence. It was merely weakened by death, and so measures were taken to keep it intact—preserve the Divine soldier she sent unto us, nothing more. If it would alter you drastically, far beyond what may have become of you, we would not have allowed it. A demon's essence, blended seamlessly into your being, has only ever served you in your conquests, giving you an edge others lack. It is not worthy of your ire."

Ganondorf visibly struggled with his temper, trying to hold onto his outrage, but against the logic of the witches, knowing from years of experience how to contain his rage, it began to fade. Finally, defeated, he let it go with a heavy sigh, turning a pointed glare toward the stone floor. "…Very well…" He muttered, feeling more conflicted now then he had before. "If I truly do carry this… 'Legacy', as you called it, then it is favorable to know that my actions are my own, albeit of a similar desire and nature to this… Demise… creature."

"Indeed, Lord Ganondorf." The witches agreed, watching him settle with fond eyes. "The two of you are Kindred, and once separate, though now are one and the same. Perhaps we may set an analogy, in our existence." They offered thoughtfully, resolving to let it rest as he nodded grudgingly, allowing a moment of silence to fall in reflection.

Though Koume, in her humorous mood, took the opportunity to finally comment upon Ganondorf's attire. "Ehehehee… But this Demon can claim no credit for your brilliant mind… We have watched you from afar, Child, seeing your deceptions as a fabled Shiekah… it almost suits you, that outfit you wear. How clever you are."

The brazen cackle of her sister filled the room then, as nodding Kotake could not help but agree, eyeing the Gerudo King's body in the tight fabric. "Ohohoho! Right you are, Koume, and so ironic it is!" She laughed in her wicked way, her visage glowing violently with the energy of it.

Less than intrigued, the now somewhat sullen Gerudo lazily cocked a brow, raising his eyes to look upon the pair with a bored expression. "…Ironic?" He mused, suddenly feeling drained of his energy as conversing with them took its toll.

With mischief in her bulging eyes, the deep wrinkles at the sides of them pulling tight, Kotake flashed him a small and wry smirk. "Yes, Lord Ganondorf. Very ironic, indeed, given your connections to Demise, in point of fact…"

Koume could hardly wait, tittering with a strife-like voice. "Oh, Kotake, the suspense! Tell him of the Shiekah's origin!" She cried, eager.

"I already know of their origins!" Ganondorf spat defensively, reverting to a childlike manner of backtalk. "Do you think I would stumble into this castle without such knowledge, dressed as one?"

"Ah, Child, your temper…" Koume clucked with a disappointed sound, though affixed him with a firm and questioning stare, hawkish nose twitching. "These Hylians are ignorant fools, and you do very well in exploiting this. Your own knowledge is impressive, yes, but there is far more to that tale you told the young Princess… Ghirahim was but a servant to the hand that would wield him, and it was not he who taught the Shiekah..."

"But the Shiekah who taught him." Kotake finished, a twisted smile upon her withered face. "…In order to get to you, the Demon passed through us. We know well of its history with the Goddess, Hylia, who like you now resides in mortal form… but you, child, do not."

Like a wave breaking upon the shores of greed, the telltale flash swam across Ganondorf's golden eyes like wildfire, raging and hungry for more. "Goddess Hylia…?" He asked, interest well and truly caught.

And as the haughty cackle of the specters rang out to chill the air, relaying precious information to whip up darkness and misfortune—forever in service to their King, even beyond the grave—far across the castle, Shad stood in the Council Chambers with Eureka in his eyes. Holding the tome Ganondorf had left high, like a lost treasure, the forgotten edict was announced to catch the ears of all in company. For the first time in what seemed like an eternity of anxiousness and uncertainty, both the Gerudo and the Council were made aware of how the future would unfold, gaining answers and forging plans to move ahead.

Hyrule would have a King once again.

**A/N: **

**Short and informative, but crucial for later.**

**I think it's a nice wind down from the last few chapters, though. We're moving on into the thick of things, and with it all interconnected, I am satisfied that I can go ahead without leaving anybody lost.**

**It's about to get trickier, and quite possibly, even more convoluted. Look at me, flitting about all over the Zeldaverse... I feel like the running man.**

**Also, I'm not overly fond of writing TwinRova, as their mode of speech and interaction can be quite taxing and if written poorly, just plain annoying. But I've tried to make it as endurable as possible, and I've given a bit of a hot/cold dynamic to their personalities to suit them; I made Koume a bit warmer, softer and slightly less blunt, while Kotake is a bit more barbarous and cold, factual and straight up. I only wanted it to be subtle, so I hope I didn't over do it.**

**And I didn't get to do it in the last chapter with all the fuss, but I've had the time to expand a bit on why Shiro is there—massive reference to the OoT soldier who died in the back alley, if anyone caught that last time. Also, Shiro was the injured soldier in MM, and Viscen was the name of the Captain of Clocktown as well.**

**Just a bit of love for the Hylian Soldiers, because they are a lovable bunch.**

**Anyway, miniature cliffhanger as to how much Ganondorf now knows about the past, and more Link soon. The poor dear. **

**Onward to glory.**


	16. Freedom at a Cost

The rains had come as Ganondorf had predicted, covering the land in a bleak fog for the past two days, chilled and haunting as it sat curled about the distant mountains like claws; wisps of it seeping into town to travel silent and lost among the alleys. The cobblestone was ever wet with the lightest showers, the droplets almost seeming to hang in the still air, time frozen though the clocks had since started again for a new King.

It had swept the entire town now, this news of the Shiekah to take regency. Many accepted this with a sense of relief, feeling that the one who guarded their Princess was simply now extending that service to the throne itself, safe and reliable. The ambassadors who had come for celebration were yet to return to their homelands, staying on to see their allied nation found itself a suitable leader for the time being—the organization for the Coronation had been swift, to say the least, once the edict had been found and passed through Council.

Due to the nature of the events before it, however, the Coronation itself was to be a private and mournful affair of necessity and humility, coming even before the sentencing of the King's murderer—still held in the dungeons as he was.

But before this critical point of moving forward and ensuring the Throne was filled, and Royal position secure until Zelda came of correct age to take it, a funeral was being held for the departed Sovereign. The two events were now set into place, with the Coronation of the Shiekah to be taken the day after bidding final respects and laying the King's body to rest. Zelda had been informed of these affairs, and much as Ganondorf expected, had taken a positive notion from it in the fact that Sheik would be a King, and therefore, her marriage to him would not be frowned upon when the time came.

The sorrow of the nation could be felt easily within the castle walls, reaching its highest point in those who personally knew and served the late King—all of which were now gathered together in the Royal chapel. No pew was left unfilled as the chamber saw mourners standing cramped into the crowded space as well, and even the halls outside were taken up by people that could not fit into the chapel, servants and nobles alike.

At the forefront, the King's body burned within purified and holy flames, cremating in front of their very eyes as the last words of the Priests echoed hauntingly through still air.

"…And thus, we bid farewell to Daphnes Nohansen Hyrule the Second, and bear witness as His Majesty's body—mortal—is given up to the Earth in the elements bestowed to us by the Holy Trinity of the Goddesses; his Spirit immortal and eternal, to return to the Great Mothers' care and rest in Divinity."

To the side of the marble dais upon which the King was engulfed, a matching pew reserved for family seated only two occupants, looking lonely and isolated against the large size and decorated nature of the bench. The Princess, dressed wholly in dark fabrics, looked every bit as a shadow upon the stark white stone. Golden tresses were worn down, ringletted lightly into curls, with her hands uselessly clasped upon her lap. A thin, sheer veil fell before her countenance, as if to hide it from the world as they waited in vain for tears to fall, long sleeves and a conservative cut to her attire seeming to shield her form from perusal entirely. Zelda was not in a mood to be looked at or scrutinized upon—she would have it every other day now, and this, her father's funeral proceedings, would not be one of the times she allowed others to pick at her or expect certain things.

Sitting beside, ever faithful it seemed, was the supposed Sheikah who would replace her father in more aspects than one. He sat very close to her, stoic as ever to those who would inspect him idly, arms crossed as his large frame leaned back into his seat. Since the Shiekah were naturally associated with death, the Gerudo felt no need to emphasize it by attire and wore, as he usually did, the traditional garb of the shadow folk. What had changed about him, however, was his hair—the long braid that was once held at the nape of his neck had been cut, shorn and the remaining hair tapered into a neat style not unlike when he had first killed one of Hyrule's Kings. The explanation given was one that garnered respect among the mourning peers who asked; in failing his duties to protect the Crown, he had severed the cue in order to show honour lost, and would now be recognized as a disgrace by his own cultural custom.

Ganondorf had made well certain of the fact his crimson hair, bereft of magic after being cut, had been disposed of thoroughly; it only added to the symbolism, that he regain at least some of his own appearance from a bygone—but increasingly replayed—era. Zelda had responded extremely well to the change, noting coyly that she preferred this new style. 'Rugged yet capable' was the words she had used to describe it, and his explanation about duty and honour broken had only served to further her ardor for him.

He watched the King as he was slowly reduced to ashes, the agonizing detail amusing him as pale skin shriveled and blackened, cracking open and falling away like black snowflakes. It was hard to keep the horrible curve of his mouth in check, as it was constantly threatening to take over and split his lips in an awful sneering grin. _Burn, you worthless trash; _his mind cackled, _burn and let your ashes blow away on a fell wind, forgotten, while I live on to wear your Crown._

Crystalline eyes turned away from the sight of her father, his skin melting away, eaten by the fires. She simply couldn't stand such a thing—somewhere within her, a very potent notion of mortality was flaring up and reminding her every second, with the unpleasant scent of it mixed upon holy incenses, that her own death would greet her one day.

The deaths of those she cared for hurt, yes, and each held its own grieving process… but her own death was something she could choose how to grieve. The difference, ironic and sad, was that she could only ever mourn her own mortality before meeting it, and never know when it would come save for if she made it so herself. And then, there was Sheik—he had already lived for ages beyond her own years, how long would he last? If she did possess a likewise extended life by hereditary and mystical means, did that mean she would outlast him? Could she even bear to see him die before her, or would she choose to cut her own life short and join him by that point, hopefully old and lives well spent?

The very notion terrified the Princess, far more so than her own fate—watching the one person she could never imagine being without meet his end. It would be as if she lost half of herself, to live as a shell of what she'd been, hollowed out and unable to function normally. Zelda shivered as the chilling thought traversed her spine, her hand automatically moving to find the partner it had come to know.

Ganondorf glanced downward when he felt the delicate fingers curl tentatively around his own, relenting as his arms unfolded to allow a more comfortable hold. Her fingers twitched with a nervous tremor, betraying internal ruminations about something that upset her, and the Gerudo could tell immediately as he cupped her hand with both of his own. Crimson eyes tracked her profile, seeing the ghost of a smile flicker across her lips and watching her gaze waver ahead, and though Zelda's focus was clearly upon her father, the subtle pulsing of the necklace she wore told him he was the object of such emotion.

"How are you faring, Zelda?" He whispered with a low rumble, leaning slightly closer as he spoke so that the utmost privacy could be taken. "Is the sight making you uncomfortable?"

_It truly is wasted on her, _he thought idly, _She'll never value the artistic flare I have in all of this…Like the deaf trying to appreciate music; even if she did know of my skillful executions, she'd find them distasteful, blinded by moral constructs. A pity, really, but perhaps as I teach her the subtle art of painting in blood, she'll reflect back on all of this with at least a grudging respect for the talent. _

Hesitating slightly, she shook her head, glancing at him from beneath the veil with a sorrowful look. "No…" She breathed, gaze cast downward. "I was merely reflecting upon loss." The Princess glanced up at him for a moment, as if he might suddenly vanish. "Promise me something… It may sound foolish, and it may even be impossible, but…" She trailed of as her bottom lip was chewed.

Seeing him raise a brow slightly, a seriousness in his eyes that made her feel reassured, she continued with hushed and small voice. "…Promise me I will never suffer losing you as I have my parents. Do not succumb to sickness, or be felled by another… Just live… no matter what, just do everything in your power to live for me."

Ganondorf stared at her, letting the words settle in his ears and repeat in his mind before anything else. How beautiful that the Princess, comparable to his own personal Angel of Death in the past, now wished only for him to be well; to survive… to live for her, and promise that he would not be felled. She wished for his existence to become perpetual, immortalized, so that she might continue to have a part of it. It was almost humbling, and yet, it was also empowering. A pleased expression crossed his harsh features, seeming to soften them, and a knowing spark shone in his eyes—Out of the many he had made across the span of his life, this was a promise he felt confidant he could keep.

Ganondorf gave a single, affirmative nod, squeezing her hand fondly—protectively and possessively—in his own. "I promise you, Zelda, by all the fires of the Black Pit, I will not meet my death until I am good and ready… Nothing is coming to snatch me away, and neither will I let anything come for you in turn." It almost ended in a hiss, adamant as if he thought the Goddesses were eavesdropping in that moment.

Zelda's smile flickered stronger than before, breaking the sullen tone of her visage with appreciation. "You and I against the world." She whispered affectionately, turning her attentions back onto the crematory dais. "…And tomorrow, you will be my King."

Ganondorf, too, allowed his gaze to return to the body as it began visibly collapsing, sending embers to float upward with brief sparks at the movement. "So I shall." He smirked, eyes flashing gold—the light of the fires, surely. _Finally; I love it when a plan comes together._

But as the two sat in reticence with their thoughts, neither cared to recall that upon that marble pew with them, another would have sat in grieving also. One of the most heartbroken and heavily hit of all those who mourned the Sovereign's death was not in attendance of the funeral, nor could he be present in the halls with the rest of those who couldn't secure their place in the chapel. Instead, down below, in the very bowels of the castle where ruins and ancient labyrinths lay hidden and decaying, the dungeons stowed him in chains and lonely darkness.

The cold air was moist and tainted with a moldy scent, thick to stain the tongue with the taste of it as well as fill lungs with a filthy sensation. Moss crawled over cracked and crumbling stone brick, some parts so far gone that only age sculpted dirt lay to make up patches of the walls. Link sat within one of these dingy cells, mourning the King—and everything else lost with him—in silence. His skin crawled cold and his belly rumbled with hungry wailing, shackles clamped around his wrists to cut brutally into them and hold his form to the wall. He had been stripped of his effects and clothes, left only in a tattered pair of burlap pants, awkwardly stitched and stained with the blood of previous criminals.

His bare back stung against the wall, a constant maze of burning upon his flesh as the crisscrossing of the lashes threatened infection in the awful conditions—he knew it was inevitable the moment he'd been whipped, and already, a fever had begun to take hold. The Rancher was well aware of the fact that he may not see his sentencing, if left unchecked, and with the scorn of the entire Kingdom now upon him without relief or doubt, Link had accepted that he may simply be left to that fate on purpose. Spared the noose and a quick demise, in favor of a horrible and agonizingly slow passing as he succumbed to injury and hunger, alone and forgotten.

And yet, he did not linger on such selfish thoughts, focused instead in lamentation over his inability to protect the King from harm, and what that now meant for not only the Princess, but Malinna as well.

_I failed everyone, _he thought, staring off into the darkness without concept for time. _I got so caught up in that stupid energy and let everything slip me by… If I hadn't been so self-centered about it, I might've seen what was happening around me more clearly…_He sighed, head hanging limply in his depressed state. _I let the King be killed, and I never even got to thank him for all he did for us…And now all of it will amount to nothing as that bastard goes about destroying everything._

Link still wasn't entirely sure what that meant or how wide ranging the effects were—he knew, now, that Sheik wasn't truly a Shiekah… but that left him a complete mystery besides. It simply meant that he couldn't be sure of anything about the man; save only for the impression, given by the strange power, that he was dangerous. But then, if he had already killed the King, and thought nothing of framing somebody else for it to the point of being smug, there was no telling what kind of other unspeakable horrors he was capable of…

_But he's started out doing one of the worst things I can imagine, so it isn't likely to get any better… but, by the Gods, what kind of person is he if he can truly do worse? **What could** be worse?_

The boy twitched suddenly as his back went cold, cuts igniting with searing pain, jerking away from the wall and catching his bloodied wrists upon the shackles devastatingly as he did so—the bricks behind him caused him discomfort, the shackles had cut into his wrists to bruise and tear the flesh, and his legs ached without use. It welled up inside of him for the what must've been hundredth time, striking a wild and raw nerve, and Link found himself screaming out into the abyss—it wasn't quite rage, or sorrow, or despair. Though his entire body and all of his strength went into such forceful cries, they were empty; bereft of intention or purpose other than to simply express that he was still alive. But it escaped him with a primal passion that he clung to, desperately, thinking that perhaps if he kept reaffirming his existence with such a pinnacle of force and tenacity, he would continue to keep breathing in turn as if the echo would roll back and renew him somehow.

Here, in the unknown time he'd remained, Link had shed tears. He had yelled and writhed and struggled with all his might to break the chains. He had torn through memories, berated himself, cursed others, and strained his mind with convoluted schemes of a fantastical escape. He had allowed himself to simply fall silent, waded through broken sleep and fleeting nightmares, waking to find the blackness unchanged and seeing the specters of his consciousness bleed out into reality to haunt him.

Yet, out of all these things, he had not broken. Link had not snapped like even he himself had expected to at some point upon being dragged down to this hell. An eternity may as well have passed him by, alone in his torment, and the Rancher knew that many would've simply gone mad, or shriveled to die with their hopes crushed and gone. How he wished he could break as other might; to give up and slip silently into abyss and be removed from everything that had happened, rest after a life of toil and fight. One of the most sinister revelations over the most recent ones made to him, was in fact the realization his mind wouldn't allow him relief in any form; he would stay alive down here for as long as his body held together, just as sane and plagued by just as many thoughts as when he entered.

And he didn't have the faintest idea why he held this trait at all; only able to waver back and forth over whether it was a blessing or a curse.

His voice carried off into the distant passages, distorting the further it echoed into the dark, and as if watching it leave him Link silenced himself once again. Chest rising and falling with slow panting, steely eyes lost focus to become dull, staring blindly ahead. Perhaps he was already dead, now lost as a spirit in the dark, unable to move beyond it.

Just as he began to consider this, the sound of feminine voices breezed his ears, the boy sitting bolt upright and searching frantically, uselessly, for them in the darkness. The echo of those voices had been brief, however, and may have been his imagination… if he were truly dead, would there be angelic creatures coming to retrieve him? Images of the Divine, perhaps even the Goddesses themselves, ran through his hazy mind. He shook his head viciously to rid himself of the thoughts concerning such specters, blonde bangs whipping his temples with the force of it.

"No!" He yelled ferociously, straining against his bonds. "I'm not ready to die! Get away from me; I **will** leave this place alive!" It was desperate, and he knew he was likely suffering from dehydration and such, but at this moment it was the only response he could muster. His legs kicked out and his arms trembled by the force at which his fight came flooding back, jerking chains taut. Fresh blood came rolling down his forearms to drip from elbows, the sharp and burning pain of abused wrists welcomed. These things, pain and blood and struggle, were of the living and no fate could claim him should he still feel them.

Something ahead caught his eyes then, splitting the darkness with a hauntingly lovely glow—warm, inviting, as his whole being seemed to focus upon the lightly bobbing orange light in the distance; a beacon of sanguinity against the harsh and unearthly black. Link's chest tightened then—a beautiful light at the end of a tunnel, all the rest of his existence dark as if the mind had temporarily forgotten everything of worldly sensations, like the sun upon one's skin and the kiss of the wind. A panic unlike anything he'd ever felt set in, spurring him to move even more defiantly, the stripes lashed to crisscross his skin crying out as the boy twisted about in a psychotic fit—anything to stave off this symbol of death.

"I SAID GET AWAY!" He screamed, voice cracked and dry to rasp with an evil sound, as if within the boy was born the first glimmer of malice for whatever came to claim him.

His whole body twitched as through it was sent a mighty pulse, straightening his back and rendering his form numb for a good few moments—the energy flared voraciously, as if warding off the reapers who undoubtedly came for his soul. In that instant, a beacon of golden light shone from the back of Link's left hand, cutting through the shadow like a blade, flashing powerfully until the pulse faded.

The boy himself, whose face was contorted into such an expression of force that his eyes were shut tightly to it, did not see this occur… but when again he opened them, the glow had changed to become more material in appearance, highlighting two forms as they ran toward him.

A torch… it was not the light of fate, simply fire.

Link froze realized then his mistake, the restless struggle settled immediately as he stared on in awe. It seemed clear now, crisp in his vision, unmistakable… were those specters crawling in the dark for his soul real, or was it only this fire; energy simply awakening him to a similar sight? But these thoughts paled in comparison to the fact that there, before him, a very literal flicker of hope had come into a being, his possible death discarded as fever dulled eyes focused upon the new and lively. As if breaking through a bubble, the feminine voices became not only familiar, but understandable, reaching his pointed ears to be greedily soaked up.

"Did you see that flash? …Link! Telma, there he is!" One voice called, and immediately, Link knew it belonged to Ashei. His heart almost doubled as he remembered the ghost of her smile, and likewise, the tenacity and determination she would bring with her, even wounded.

Blinking against the light as it grew close, becoming harsh, the Rancher twisted his head away but refused to let his vision relent—in the glaring sight, he could see half of Ashei's blunt features illuminated, an expression of desperate concern upon them. Telma, barely visible, followed behind as little more than a silhouette, the faintest colour of her vibrant dreadlocked hair visible as it swung with each step. The chaotic reverberation of their boots hitting stone brought them ever closer to his cell, the occasional splashing as the duo disturbed stagnating waters. The nearer they came, the more Link's body seemed to weaken, losing its persistence as it saw help was on its way, and a weak smile took the very last of Link's energy to spare. His fatigue slammed down on top of him without mercy now that he'd stopped moving.

"Ashei… Telma… how did you… get here?" He breathed with a rasping whisper, staring at the women as they moved about, purposeful in each movement with hardened looks upon their faces—he knew they hadn't heard him, but he didn't care. They had come for him, and he supposed it didn't matter how or why.

Telma had affixed a hazel gaze upon the boy from the moment she'd arrived in front of the rusty bars, taking to a knee as the hefty woman removed a few slender metal instruments from a pocket in her thick apron. Her eyes were filled with relief and kindness, but held a fierce resolve that Link had never seen in them before. "We're getting you out of here, Honey. Just you hold on tight." She explained, taking to the tarnished lock with the slivers of steel. "This may take a minute to pick, I'm about as rusty as the bars are…"

"Get it done, Telma. You've got his shackles next, yeah?" Ashei ordered firmly as she came to a stop beside, a quiet and stern fury held back by only a hairs breadth. Though outwardly stoic, as always, the woman's hand was curled into a tight fist around the torch as she stared past the bars, watching the flicker of the flames cast lines of shadow over Link's form. He looked so skinny and undernourished, pale with dark circles beneath his eyes and bruises covering his form; so different from the spirited and healthy Champion, though she knew most of the change was mental. Seeing now what had been done to the boy, even after the cheapest of shots at the Gala where he'd stood firm… to reduce him to this shell of the former… She was livid.

With a moan of protest, the rusted gears within the lock turned and gave way with an audible shunting click, opening. Removing her instruments, Telma had barely enough time to lean aside before Ashei moved quickly, taking a firm foot to kick the cell door as it flew open with a harsh clang upon the bars, shattering the silence violently.

Link's eyes, tired and restless as they were, couldn't be torn from the warrior as she stormed in with all the vigor of a hurricane, shoving the torch forcefully into an iron holder.

"Fuck it, I'll do it myself." She hissed at nobody in particular, her wrist flicking to take hold of the rapier at her hip. It was drawn swiftly, a vicious movement plunging it hilt-deep into the gap between the crumbling wall and the metal—a sharp pull backward gave a screech as the metal bent slightly under the sheer strength of it, Ashei's scowl comparable to any demon's visage. The boy blanched as the woman lifted a boot, planting it firmly beside his head with little warning, as if he wasn't even there; she pulled back again with surprising force, fuelled by outrage and little care to the welfare of her blade. The metal strained itself to keep its form, weakening where it was bolted to the wall, though the rapier was far more likely to give if it continued.

"Ashei, that's enough! If you're going to be a brute, then carry Link back and leave me to the delicate work, you hear!" Telma scolded, picking herself up from the stone with hands on hips, easily matching Ashei's fearsome expression. "If he could be freed by an angry sword alone, I wouldn't be here. Now move it and be patient!"

The bar matron stalked inward, firmly grasping the woman's wrist and sending her a look that could shatter mirrors, and amazingly, Ashei relented. Slowly, she removed her blade from the wall mounted chains, giving a grunt of frustration at everything and stepping aside reluctantly. The air felt thick enough already without tension added to it, but the boy was in no state to even notice, still bewildered as he was by their appearances in the dungeon, out of nowhere.

Link struggled against heavy eyelids, now that he was able to see and focus—he realized how much of his reality must've been distorted in the darkness, with nothing to anchor his senses. It was likely he had spent at least a day slipping in and out of sleep without knowing it, playing havoc on his own tattered psyche. He closed his eyes as Telma began unlocking the shackles, feeling the side of her apron brush his cheek warmly. He felt so restless now yet too tired to make movement occur, tracking the sounds made of the process and waiting hungrily for that tell tale click of release.

"…I…thought I might… die down here…" He whispered, catching the attention of both women as the paused a moment to simply stare. Without seeing this, his ears twitched to the sudden silence, able to focus upon the crackle of the torch. "This makes things… a lot easier, now… I don't have to figure out how to escape on my own…" Link's mouth twitched lightly, something of a smile. "I guess... It's been so long, I've…forgotten what friends truly are, lacking them as I do."

Steely eyes cracked open once again, glancing softly between the warrior and the bar matron, his smile growing from something broken into something hopeful once again, a wholly present thing with no true thought to the future, simply grateful for this moment alone. "Thank you." Link offered, his fingers curling limply.

Telma glanced down toward him, noting now that his back was lined with whip marks. Opening her mouth to respond to the dear boy, she considered what to say but closed it quickly—she was an aging woman with a business instead of a husband, past a marrying age and holding no interest in such things truly. She was indeed a friend to the ranchers, and always would be, but to face a future as an outlaw meant Link would need more than that; an ally to stand firm with him through thick and thin, better than a friend could offer. It occurred to her that this response was better suited for the one who could become important; somebody who could offer that him care and be at his side. Straightening as she moved to continue against the locks, she sent Ashei a pointed look, urging her to say something with a nod.

The raven haired warrior quirked a brow at the other, not the least bit aware of the content of Telma's thoughts, but caught the quick message that she was expected to give Link a response. Scoffing slightly, her arms were crossed in defense, not understanding why such a thing fell to her—she wasn't exactly in the mood to give a soft reply. A grimace wormed its way onto her face, a confusion about it as she attempted to put her agitations aside and sort out an acceptable answer to the boy's heartwarming—or heartbreaking—confession.

"Link…" Ashei started, hesitant as her shoulders twitched. "You're an idiot."

"Ashei Delmoran!" Telma gasped with horror, dreadlocks whipping to the side with the force of which her head turned. "For Goddesses' sake! Is that really all you can say to him?" She cried in shock, as Link simply blinked up at the warrior expectantly, seemingly unphased.

Ashei scowled again at her old friend, gritting her teeth. "I don't know what you expect me to say Telma!" She pulled a hand from crossed arms to gesture negligently at the boy. "Look at him! He's been down here stewing in his thoughts all this time, not even expecting anybody to come to his aid or fight for him." Dark eyes turned then to Link with ire. "What the hell kind of Champion does that? Do you think I can't see the look of your eyes? You've kicked and screamed, questioned, and even cried, yeah? You're exactly the same boy now as you were when your Uncle was hung! Where did all that fight go, that you're back to square one?"

Link flinched some, staring up at her as if she might explode, but slowly his cracked voice came. "I… I didn't know what else to do." His eye almost seemed to twitch. "He took everything from me. I know it was him that saw our lives to ruin… And he's… done it again. Everything I've fought for and rebuilt, years I've tried; he's torn it all down in seconds… But I just don't have the ability to give up and die either." He shrugged, a heavy sigh slipping. "…Maybe I'm just built to suffer so others don't have to… I don't know… But what can I do, honestly, even if I were to get out?"

Ashei could've slapped him, drawing her hand back to do so, but under the stern glare of Telma forced her wayward hand down to be held under an arm. "I've punched you before Link, and worked then. Don't you make me do it again… you should be old enough to know better." She hissed, stepping forward as the click sounded, freeing the boy of his bonds as his arms fell weakly to his sides. "You've fought all your life for others, but when it comes to yourself, you haven't got a clue, have you?"

Link barely had time to rub at one of his wrists, smearing the fresh blood against dried flakes before Telma set upon them, taking bandages from her apron and wrapping them quickly. "Ashei has been so upset over what's been done to you, Honey," She interjected quickly, trying to soften it all, "Don't you take it on yourself. She's been fuming since the guards took you away on those false charges… Would've been taken herself if I hadn't stopped her from trying to jump that Shiekah, with this little plan here..."

No sooner was he tended to did Ashei latch onto his upper arms, dragging him upward to stand on shaky feet with a scoff. "Look, the bastard got you, I get it. There wasn't a lot you could've done about it, and you never saw it coming, sure—Stand up, damn you!" She yelled, struggling with him as Link's legs refused his intentions.

"I'm trying!" He yelled back, Telma standing behind to lift him straight. "And if I'm such a disappointment, why the Hell come and get me in the first place?" He cursed, a tired scowl knitting together as Ashei became eye level, his feet finding purchase. A slow pant came rolling from his lips, speaking volumes of the toll his confinement had taken.

As steeled eyes bore into hers then, the Warrior paused, a strange calm flooding into her at the sight of them. Her arms wrapped around his waist in what might've been taken for an embrace, had she not immediately begun to shift him, swinging his arm over her shoulder and shunting him about so that he might walk with Telma catching his other arm to do the same. Link found himself hoisted by the women, each taking his weight and allowing his steps to come easily.

"Because I came to you when nobody else would when we were kids, and I'll do it as many times as I need to, if it means making this world better for it. My father was a Knight in his own right, and when I look at you, I see the same honor and sense of right in your eyes… To lose you would be a waste, Captain or not." Ashei relented quietly, not looking at him. "The world needs more people like you, like us, so that bastards like that Shiekah don't get their way, yeah?"

Link stared at her, the memory flashes across his face visibly, a myriad of emotions he was too tired to feel. "…I know. I know you were the girl who hit me back then; I have since I saw you trying to get to me through the crowd at the Gala… Since I met you, now I think about it, but I was too distracted to remember at the time…" He admitted, the quiet voice stripped of energy.

"There are plenty of things I know need to be done, even now—Especially now—and I'd give my all to do them. But… Unless you have _how_ we'll do them… Then you may as well have left me here. I'm only going to be a liability from here on out, if we escape at all. I'll be the most wanted man in Hyrule; I may end up back in here within the day, or just killed on sight by whoever they send after me." He sighed.

As the trio slowly turned to leave this place behind, Telma reached out to retrieve the torch, careful as she adjusted Link between them. The boy had gone quiet now, and it was easy for her to see that both he and Ashei were alike—each had struggled through their pasts, and faced impossible odds to live through, but each of them lacked that innate ability of mankind to simply give up. Perhaps neither of them knew how. But there, scanning their faces in the dim flicker of torchlight, they were the same—with a small smile, knowing that the pair wouldn't see the similarity themselves, Telma spoke up.

"You're as bad as each other, you hear?" She chuckled lightly, drawing fleeting glances. "I knew both of your parents, be it biological or adoptive, the pair of you… They'd be proud of how you both turned out, all things aside." She smiled at Link then, warmly with a soft twinkling in her eye. "You know, Link, Ashei here isn't one to speak openly about her father, but he was a great man. In his youth he applied for the Royal Guard himself, after years of training, and they offered him a Captaincy straight off the bat, just like you."

The boy blinked at her, ears twitching with curiosity, though Ashei simply remained quiet to eye the other woman—she was up to something. Their boots sloshed through a puddle, the sound echoing eerily as they traversed what looked suspiciously like an old sewer way.

"Trouble was, he was too good for that position. He held it for a year or so before resigning… They practically begged him to stay, though he was about your age at the time. Talleday took up the position when he left, only a few years older, but he was taught everything Darshen knew before he did… And Darshen himself, of course, he didn't stick around. He went out to fight anything and everything he could in the name of peace." Telma laughed fondly. "He ended up doing far more good than he would've had he stayed in the Royal service, that's for sure."

Link nodded some, understanding that Telma brought it up to give him some hope, but one thing nagged at the boy. "…What happened to him, then?" He asked, sounding a bit cynical. "If he was such a great man and did so many things, what became of him in the end?"

Before Telma could answer, Ashei gave a long and tired sigh, letting her gaze fall to the side. "He died." She spat plainly, sounding bitter. "He grew older, met my mother, watched her bare me out of wedlock and watched her die all the same. He raised me like a son, teaching me how things were and how to make them right." She shot the other two a glare, hiding any hurt. "And then he died. Heroes don't get a good ride, and they shouldn't expect to; they do what they can while they're here, when nobody else will, and that's what makes them Heroes, yeah? Now drop it."

"…Do I really remind you so much of him?" Link asked, turning his eyes to the Warrior. "That's what this is all about, isn't it? You lost your Father and I'm some sort of weird replacement for him, in the world?"

Ashei stared at him then, tracing his features for any acrimony and forming a venomous reply. But to her chagrin, she found none of it—Link's steely blue eyes were clear before her, holding a strange mixture of empathy and regret, swimming about with determinations unset. The hollow look to him before had vanished, as if just by getting him out of those chains had filled in his face, returning colour and expression. He was returning, tired though he looked—the Wolf was in there still, unbroken and untamed, and Ashei marveled at that some. For all his sullen talk, and confusion about how to proceed, she knew somehow, he would find a way past the obstacles and do what he could anyway.

After a moment, she felt herself smile. A tiny and withdrawn one, sympathetic yet reassuring—the smile she'd given Link so very long ago. "Yeah, you do. My Father died before his time, and I'm not going to let you do the same. We'll get that guy, even if we spend our whole lives doing it—We won't rest until Hyrule is safely back in the hands of a _true_ member of the Royal Family." Her features hardened then. "You, Link, you were targeted because you're a threat, don't know how or why specifically, but you're one hell of an asset if you rattle him enough to see to you twice, yeah?"

Telma laughed then, as the group turned a corner, finding a narrow passage dug out of the earth. "That's right, Honey. He's taken a lot of good measures to see you kept away… There's something special about you, for sure."

But Link was not listening to this strange praise, his eyes growing wide with anger. The true gravity of what Ashei had said hit him with new meaning, as through his mind flashed visions of the King's corpse and the Shiekah, the ghosted feeling of being dragged away by soldiers staining his skin. Through clenched teeth he hissed, more to himself than anything, muscles tensing with the want to strike something. "…Sheik is going to take the throne?"

The hefty woman gave him a strange look, before remembering there was no way he could've known. "Yes, Honey, he is. The Princess, bless her heart, isn't old enough and her Dear Mother passed years ago… By the law, it falls to the guardian of the Heir, which is unfortunately that Sheik person. That's why we've come for you now. The funeral is going on and tomorrow he'll be given regency in a private coronation, so there's plenty of time to get you away before anybody notices, with all the fuss going on."

Link's hands flexed into fists and released repeatedly as he considered this; it all made sense now. Getting rid of Talleday… Using the disguise so that he could get close enough to Zelda and kill the King… Framing him… Taking the throne by technicality…

And of course, the point that Link held a special something—the energy. Sheik must've seen it and known about its existence; _that's why he demanded the sparring match to check how far I'd come_, he thought with a sneer. _That must be why I'm a threat, I __**am**__ meant to take him down!_

"He's had years to plan this…" The boy mused aloud, voice cold and devoid of emotion. "But if I'm such a threat, then why keep me alive? Why not just kill me like he did the King, or Talleday, or anyone? Gods only know how many others there were over the years…"

Ashei shrugged, focusing now ahead of them as a line of light against the floor gave away a secret exit. "Perhaps that'd be too obvious, given the history you two have over the Captain and all. I'm sure the King would've had a full investigation into it, and this way, he can chase you off and get away with murder all at once. He's a clever bastard, at least we know that..."

Telma slipped away from them then, padding forward over the dirt to illuminate what seemed to be a wall of wood, a lever jutting out of the wall beside her. "What matters, Honey, is he didn't and that's his loss. Whatever the reason he takes a particular dislike to you, he hasn't dealt with you. You're alive, you're about to be free, and he's only managed to make things more difficult for you… but not impossible."

She reached up for the lever, giving a sharp pull and putting most of her weight into it, audible gears crunching and forced into a mechanical turn. The wood moved a few inches in a hefty jolt, dust and small clumps of dirt falling from above as it was spurred into a slow movement sideward. Light poured in as the gap to the outside widened, stinging their eyes and revealing a back room of the bar, various shelves containing bottles of all shapes and sizes. The trio stumbled through, moving Link to a small wooden table and setting him, with some difficulty, into a chair—discomfort was clear upon his face as he winced, adjusting himself slowly into a position that didn't aggravate his lash-lined back.

"That… may be… true…" He grunted, letting loose a long sigh as he found a tolerable pose. "I haven't got the faintest clue where to start… I can't stay in Castle Town, that's for sure... Or the Ranch, or… anywhere… But I do know this…" He reached out for the bottle on the small table, taking it without hesitation as his temper seemed to be getting the better of his depression. "Wake the Wolf… and it will bare its fangs." The bottle was then raised to his lips, and promptly drained of it contents, half full as it was, to quench a sizable thirst.

Ashei smirked, walking casually around to lean upon the back of Link's chair, looking down at him fondly. "That's more bloody like it." She drawled, pleased that the fire had returned to him, and her hand lazily flicked some dirt from his hair from when the passage had opened. "We'll figure something out. I'll take you up to my outpost around the base of the Mountains, get you some clothes and weaponry… We'll have to be quick, though, the Zora will spot you easily… But I've a pelt you can wear for some cover, yeah? We'll take the rivers down to the forest then and set up a camp."

Link turned a grin up at her, running his fingers over the bottle idly. "That sounds like a plan to me… or at least the start of one." He glanced over at Telma, receiving a warm smile as the sharp and wild flare returned to his eyes. "Telma… I may not get a chance to see Malinna any time soon… Can you at least make sure she knows I'm alright?"

Telma nodded lightly, winking at the boy as another pull of the lever saw the wine rack closing in front of the secret passageway. "Sure thing, Honey. I'll take good care of her while you do what you can… I'll even give her some work here if she needs it." The hefty woman turned to pad over to another cabinet, bending to open a draw and taking out some stationary. With an empathetic look, she set the parchment on the table, setting down an ink well and tattered quill with it. "Here… you write whatever you want her to know, and I'll see she gets it. I'll go and get you some food, Honey. Ashei, you stay with him."

The boy nodded, running a hand through his bangs and over his hair with a yawning nod. "Souuunds… good." He forced through it, wiggling his jaw thereafter with a tired blink. "I've never been so hungry…" His gut gave an audible groan in emphasis, pulling a grimace from him.

The bar matron paused to give the odd pair a knowing look—something akin to a matchmaking mother—before allowing sandaled feet to carry her away almost silently, slipping away through a tight stairway with a hopping motion as she scaled it, hair beads rattling.

No sooner had Telma gone, did Ashei snatch the dreg filled bottle from Link's grasp, setting it on the table out of his reach as she moved toward the wines cabinet. Her hand moved, pointing to various bottles as she scanned them, deciding on her choice. "Let's see… Ah, here we go…" She mused, pulling a dark blue bottle down, and turning with a brow aloft. "I'd say we drink to your freedom… But I won't insult you. You aren't free at all."

Link picked idly at the bandages on his wrists, making an evasive sounding hum. "…I guess they'd call it 'at large'." He conceded, thinking on his criminal status. As the woman returned to the table, uncorking the bottle with her teeth, he sent her a serious look. "You don't need to come with me, you know. It's probably safer I just go it alone… Last thing I need is to get you or Telma in trouble after what you've done for me."

Ashei tapped a finger upon the neck of the bottle, regarding him coldly—though perhaps, not intentionally. The corner of her mouth gave a twitch, and hesitantly, she pulled up a chair to sit. As she did, easing herself into it, a wince flashed across her blunt features, playing upon the injury she still bore; even moving about normally still held its difficulty, and yet she'd carried the boy as well. Link could only stare forlornly at the woman as he was reminded, painfully, of what she'd suffered for him already.

"Link…" She started with a sigh, choosing the words as she placed the open bottle between them. "My father died in an avalanche up in the Mountains. He'd lived there for near on twenty years and knew the place like the back of his hand. Every trick and turn, every beast and creature… Hell, I bet he could draw every snowflake to fall while he lived there." A pause came, eyes closing in memory.

"He was forty eight years old when he died… and me, I was fourteen. I was chasing a snow leopard off, actually… He'd been on the prowl in near our hut, and I figured he was too much of a danger to let live. I was… scared of him." She sighed, seeming to force the words out as eyes cracked open to stare down at the table. "My father had told me before to let creatures go about their business, but that leopard got to me like nothing else. I couldn't leave the hut by myself anymore, when I had the nerve to leave at all. I'd wake up at night thinking it might get into the house and try to attack me."

Link reached out for the wine, taking it slowly to his lips as he watched rare emotion flicker across Ashei's face—he'd never seen her speak so softly, so vulnerably, and knew well to listen. Swishing the wine around his mouth to whet the dry sensation, moisten his parched throat, he swallowed carefully; he was dehydrated and wine would only worsen it were he not careful.

Dark eyes avoided his as Ashei brought an idle hand upon the table, tracing the woodgrain with blunt fingernails. "For months I lived my life ruled by the fear of that animal, completely ashamed of myself and trying to hide my worries from my father. I felt like he would've thought me foolish… so one day, it overcame me. My fear turned to anger, and with it, I took up my bow and went out to find the beast, yeah? It was snowing heavily that night, but I knew it was out there. I could feel it in my bones."

Steely eyes narrowed slightly, wavering as they considered the tale; Link glanced down at the bottle, letting his head hang some, as he found he already knew the ending. Speaking quietly with a respectful tone, he made his guess. "…So even against your Father's warning, you went out and found it, shot your arrow, and caused the avalanche that killed him…"

A tense moment of silence filled the space between them as Ashei simply smirked, an ironic and cynical curve to it. "You're sharper than you look, Link." She chuckled, shaking her head some. "Yeah, that's about the size of it… I saw the thing on a ridge and fired my shot. I missed of course, and by then I had his attention. By that time, my father had come out looking for me as well… The leopard pounced me of course, and I fought it back, taking some damage as I went, but… when his claw found my arm, I cried out in pain. Loud, yeah?"

She sighed, rubbing the top of her arm as if the phantom of the injury still haunted her. "Within minutes, the echo had reached the top of the ridge and with it, I unleashed all the snow you could ever dream of… right on top of my father down below. I managed to get behind a rock in time, tucking away, but him…"

Link nodded solemnly, leaning out over the table to pass the bottle. As Ashei quickly took it, guzzling it down with any sorrow, the Rancher rubbed the back of his neck. The fever made his skin feel clammy and hot, and Link hated the feeling, but being near the warrior seemed to give him a sense of energy, as if her strength fuelled his when nearby. "You never killed the leopard, did you?" He asked, a wise tone to his voice.

Ashei shook her head, grimacing as she peered down the neck of the bottle. "Nope. Never even saw it again…" She sighed, taking another swig. "Found my Father's mangled body when I headed back to the hut, though. Arm was sticking out of the snow... at first glance, I thought it was a branch I could use for firewood."

"That's… a harsh way to lose someone…" Link conceded, reflecting upon the feeling. "Is that why you went to the Tourney? Vying for the Captaincy to relive your Father's footsteps?"

"More or less. I swore to honour his legacy, and as far as I was concerned, straightening out those cowardly soldiers and guards would be a good first step." She chuckled, thought the mirth was still lost to memory. "When I saw you out there though… I knew it wouldn't matter if I won or not. You were exactly the kind of man I thought died out with my Father… A man of Valor."

The Warrior gave a light smile, passing the bottle back, though when she received a shake of his head it was placed upon the table again. Link yawned again, unable to hide his fatigue anymore as he leaned elbows upon the wood, looking as if he would collapse at any moment. "Well, I hope I live up to expectations…" He mused tiredly, smile fading as his face was buried behind folded arms, resting upon the table. "I guess it doesn't surprise me that maybe I'm special, for whatever reason… everybody has always believed I was anyway. I'm the only one who hasn't ever thought so."

Ashei quirked a brow; it was odd to her that Link seemed so able to be doubtful of himself, even when determined to do something. He was almost mechanical in some instances, as if at certain points, he just stopped feeling entirely. "What do you mean?" She asked, curious as to why he didn't value himself as much as he might have—she knew it wasn't modesty, but neither was it self depreciation.

His voice came slightly muffled, but clear. "I've… never really had any cherished dreams or ambitions. I don't really aspire to any future profession or career… So far, in my life, things have always happened as they needed to. And, I guess, I always expected my life to continue being the same way." He offered, simple and honest as he lifted his head to rest his chin on a forearm. "That's why I never cared if I got into some kind of accident or something and died… Without other people around to need me, or drive me… I don't really have anything to me at all. I'm sort of empty that way." He shrugged.

The raven haired woman stared at him, a bit bewildered by such a thing. It was almost as if he was trying to tell her he lacked any real substance besides existing only for others, and yet, when she looked at into his eyes and remembered what he'd been through, it made some sense. _How can somebody so tenacious, so resilient and optimistic, be so… calm and neutral in saying that they're… nothing? _

"Link, you're not empty… How can you be, you're filled with everything that makes a man good in this world!" She cried, taken aback by his confession.

He simply offered another shrug, looking genuinely unphased by it. "I suppose it's because of the people who care about me. They fill me up with care, and me, like a bottle, take it with me wherever I go and pass it out to whoever needs it most. It's not really me, its just… what I've taken in from other people. I wasn't like that as a kid, but I'm not really like I was back then anymore…"

Link stared listlessly at the bottle between them, focusing tiredly upon the sheen of it, and grimacing. "Sometimes, I wonder where it started… the drifting—like my mind and body have been coming apart, little by little. I think it was when my Uncle died, the person I was died too. Like I said, meeting you changed everything for me, even though all you did was smack me out of it and give me a smile. But since then, whenever something sad happens, or something painful, it's like there's another me watching it; like I'm outside of myself, watching it happen to another person and thinking 'that's not me'."

He sighed some, glancing up at Ashei with a light smile. "But, that's okay. I can live like that… I live for other people, and I have for years… the only difference has been recently, I've been taking on the feelings again." His smile faded to be replaced by a look of utter confusion.

"I don't know why, but when it comes to Sheik it's so different. I react to him, and what he does, but you know… I still don't think it's for me; about me maybe, but still... Lately, when I've been in danger, or had my life threatened, not only do I watch it happen like I'm out of myself, but I feel it happen too… I'm disconnected as always, but I'm… not. I don't have the same control with him as I've had with everything else."

Ashei nodded, trying to understand, though this was perhaps something Link would never be able to fully relate. "Is that what that flash was I saw? When you were in the cells, we saw this bright flash of gold. At first we though it might be another torch, but it was flickering too heavily. Pulsing, almost, yeah?"

Link's eyes snapped up to hers in an instant, sparking to life with desperate curiosity. "Yes, maybe!" He gaped, trying to form the words as a million thoughts rushed through his mind. "I felt the pulse! I've been feeling it since I fought Badon! Yes, I've tried to explain it to Malinna but she didn't understand…!" He held his hands out to Ashei, grabbing hers from the table top and holding it.

"It's like this strange power. I don't know what it is, but it flares up whenever I'm in danger lately… that's what I'm talking about… The gold light… I didn't know it was even visible that way, my Gods…" He trailed off, thinking back on it as his eyes flickered frantically, downcast.

Ashei blanched as he took up her hand, unsure of what to do about it, and it was about that time that Telma's footsteps could be heard in the stairwell. As the busty bar matron came into view, holding a tray of food and a water pitcher, the two were caught in the odd position of Link holding Ashei's hand—and to Telma this looked suspiciously like a confession of love.

With a joyful laugh, she shimmied over, wide hips swaying mischievously as Ashei quickly caught the look in her eye and withdrew her hand. "Oh, no, Honey, don't you mind!" Telma cackled, setting the tray and water down for Link, who immediately seemed to focus on it. "I'll leave you two alone." She winked, turning to hop away, snickering.

Ashei held a hand to her face in shame, muttering even as Link began to devour the food, voracious appetite setting aside any possible epiphanies about to be made. From the top of the stair way, Telma's voice floated down with a teasing lilt. "I knew you two would make a good couple!"

"Shut up!" Ashei cried, snatching up the empty bottle Link had first taken up and throwing it toward the stairs in embarrassment.

The boy didn't even seem to register it, taking impossibly large bites of the bread Telma had brought for him and gulping it down with water straight from the pitcher. It took him mere minutes to polish off the cheese and berries with it, devouring the thin strip of meat with abandon, and no care for table manners—not that he had any to begin with. Sucking his fingers clean, Link dotted the plate greedily, taking up every crumb as Ashei simply watched him, somewhere between amused and shocked… perhaps even a bit repulsed, as such a handsome young man completely defied his appearance to become a bit unappealing when he ate.

But as the day wore on, food downed along with the odd pilfered bottle of wine, even such a hastily devoured meal was not lost on the boy. It may be the last good meal he'd see in quite a while, as talks of their bleak future on the run began.

**A/N:**

**Focus on Link this chapter, the poor little dude.**

**Some good attention on him now, because the next bits will be all about Zelda and Ganondorf, with only snippets of Link—I'm not even sure if he'll be in the next chapter, so he gets some spotlight now while I can afford it.**

**My heart breaks for my Link, it really does. I like him a lot more than I'd intended to, and I like Ashei was well, for that matter. What the Hell, Character expansions all around. (not that I don't like Link normally, he's epic. He's like that friend who would totally make soup for you when you're sick and hang out without worrying if he's gonna catch your cold.)**

**Anyway, next chapter will come soon, and will focus entirely on Ganondorf and Zelda.**

**Also, minor reference to the new SS manga in here, if anybody finds it.**

**Onwards to Glory.**


	17. A Crown of False Promises

Preparations had been made with the utmost scrutiny despite the haste in which they were organized; the coronation to take place at the highest and most impressive zenith of the entire castle. Higher than any stone arch or parapet, clawing up toward the Heavens themselves, an almighty chamber held a Throne that was only used in the most dire or special of circumstances.

And in the case of the Dark Lord in the guise of a Shiekah, with years of planning and patience, no lesser Throne would have sufficed for his Crowning.

Stone pillars swirled with marble designs, embossed vines and emblems of the Gods crawling up them, frozen in motion while on a journey to the grand arched ceiling above. Onyx polished floors, covered by a large and finely woven carpet of a rich navy blue, provided a reflective sheen that almost gave one the illusion of walking atop storm clouds, held above by glass. Effigies of the three Goddesses swirled to coalesce against and above the Throne itself, the back of it standing high to show off the delicate crimson fabric lining it against black lacquered wood. Overhead, seeping up the sunlight or moonshine whenever they came, three arching stained glass windows filled up the alcove of the backmost wall, splashing the chamber with all the colours of a child's dream of Eden.

In contrast to the funeral, those gathered here were far fewer in number, though far more notable for the importance of their attendance. All stood, council members alongside the visiting ambassadors to form lines either side of the expansive runner of carpet, eyes turned upon the soon to be sovereign. As the high Priest of the Royal family, flanked by to lesser vassals of the cloth, strode through the chamber toward the throne, a sprig of thyme was held high and smoldering to fill the air with the sharp scent of its purifying smoke. In the hands of each vassal was a satin cushion, and upon each sat an item of equal value—the Signet ring of Hyrule, tiny yet supreme in its role of identifying an Oath, and the Crown itself, humble and simplistic in its golden design yet holding all the power to be taken of the Kingdom. A soft hymn sounded from a choir unseen, children hidden and tucked away; the innocence of the tone betraying the true nature of the proceedings.

Standing beside the Throne, the Princess Zelda was a glorious sight, even removed from it as she was—golden tresses fell curled about shoulders clad in armored plates, bearing the Shiekah design with blue gems in the eyes. Dressed in the whites and soft lilac of her regal attire, the subtle curves of her figure only added to the natural flow and fall of her skirts, hiding dainty ankles and—though it was almost unthinkable at such an affair—bare feet. It was not often she indulged such regalia anymore, as this tailor made outfit that identified her easily as Hyrule's Princess, but this day she donned it with pride to stand at her future husband's side with a genuinely happy smile.

And next to her, seated upon the Throne itself as a secret insult and affront to all that was decent and right, Ganondorf was struggling to stay somber in appearance, when all he wanted was to be cackling like a madman—he caught himself every minute or so, forcing the smug look from his harsh features and swallowing it down despite himself. His crimson eyes tracked the glint of the Crown as it drew ever nearer, his fingers twitching with the desire to snatch it from the fat Priest's bejeweled hands. Oh, how his body strained itself against the urge to jump up and pounce upon it, to get the damned thing on his head before anything went wrong or spoilt it all, though he was sure no such thing would happen.

He was so used to protest, now, it seemed surreal that they would hand him Hyrule on a silver platter.

And yet, that was indeed what was happening, and in these moments—patience agonizingly drawn out for the few, last minutes more—the Gerudo couldn't help but be in awe of his own accomplishments. All the planning, all the worry and conniving, lying through his teeth and studying for his role… the relationship he'd forged and the anger he'd subdued. All of it came down to this now, and it amazed him how he could be so unsure of whether this was merely a dream or reality; he'd lost count of how many instances he'd pinched himself this day.

Four lines. That was all that separated him from this life long goal of conquest. Four simple, short, concise answers to pledge himself into Power; tiny lies, all of them, and yet the easiest he might ever utter… and the most potently vicious as well. A blood sworn oath that he was intent to defy, before men and Gods alike, breaking his word against even his own essence given. But then, perhaps he gave the Demon's blood, a vessel for malice as he was—he was built for this kind of lie, to take and damn as he pleased, rending the expectations of others. A man may be held by his bonds in blood, but a Demon could never be sated, their essence only able to tarnish and claim the fruits of men.

And in that sense, when his blood was dripped to stain the Signet Ring, perhaps it would not be him pledging to serve Hyrule, but rather, Hyrule to serve him.

Finally, after an eternity of waiting, the High Priest stood before him, swaying the herb to each shoulder as the smoke arched softly over the supposed Shiekah, blessing him as a talisman bearing the Triforce was touched to his forehead. "Bless you child, for the Gods shine upon thee with Gratitude and a Divine Will that you be sent to us, a Sentinel of Shadows to guard and serve as the darkness creeps forth."

Ganondorf's mouth twitched with a hidden grin, but expertly, he masked it with a humble nod of his head, his eyes shimmering with a greed easily confused for honour. He remained silent, watching the red robes of the Priest as he straightened, taking the cushion with the Ring from the vassal on his left, and the holy man's voice came rasped with age though clear and loud as he addressed all in company.

"Sheik, descendant of the Lady Impa and Son of Kakariko, loyal in service as ever to the Noble Blood of the Royal House, be they Goddess blessed and sacred in their line and status to guard this great land… Here you be Crowned Regent this day to Preserve and Protect the Legacy of Hyrule, its Rulers and their forbears." He began, all silent as the lone voice filled the air with a righteous and eminent authority.

"Will you solemnly promise and swear to govern the people of this Kingdom of Hyrule, and the dominions thereto belonging, according to the statutes in Parliament agreed on, and the laws and customs of the same?"

Holding his head high as all eyes turned to him, noting every move and gesture, every minimal expression to be made, the Gerudo was as stone before them all to speak his reply; a rich and powerful rumble that needn't match the Priest's volume to fill the expanse. "I solemnly promise to do so." He lied, the tang of it delicious upon his tongue.

Zelda smiled at him, holding the Sword of State before her, gloved hands trembling with excitement. It was finally happening. Here today, their futures together would be assured—no more hiding and sneaking about, no more subtle touches and whispers as the public eye tore them apart. All of it was coming to a swift close, and as Sheik made this Oath, his proposal filled her ears instead. He would be King, and she, even too young to sit upon the Throne, needn't pretend to wait for it; she was and would always be his Queen, forever more.

"Will you to your power cause Law and Justice, in Mercy, to be executed in all your judgments? Will you to your power ensure the whole Hyrulian peoples in all dominions thereto belonging shall have true peace at all time by your judgment; that you will forbid extortion and all kinds of wrong-doing to all orders of men without prejudice or omission?"

"I will." Ganondorf replied, catching Zelda's smile and returning the faintest glance to her, ingraining the beauty held within those crystalline eyes as he stole from her all that she was to be—no, he hadn't stolen anything. She gave it willingly, and that alone made this all the sweeter.

"Will you to the utmost of your power maintain the laws of the Gods, the true profession of the Sages and Spiritual Advisors, unto each Holy Temple of the Trinity and the practice of such religion established by Law and Sacred Order set forth by the Scrolls of Nayru? Will you preserve unto the Priests and Sages of this Realm, and to the Temples and Holy Grounds committed to their charge, all such rights and privileges as by Law do or shall appertain unto them, or any of them?"

How he could have laughed, shock and horror abound, to such a question as that one—perhaps the most insulting, or at least, the most laughable of all put to him. These men who feigned knowledge and service to the Gods, these pitiful souls who truly believed in Mercy and Heavenly intervention, the hands of the Mothers sweeping down to bring them justice and truth. Where were they now, to save these pretenders? No, they would hold no place in Divinity or holy rights, not in his Hyrule, not in any—it was only the chosen three that held favor, and only they three to decide the fate of all others by their actions alone.

And this time, Power would dominate and dictate without question or reprisal.

With those thoughts flashing behind crimson irises, the disguised Gerudo smiled, an almost humble looking thing, as from his lips came the most abhorrent lie he would ever tell, though the words would not give justice to it.

"All this I promise to do."

"Rise, and state your blood oath, that the Gods may identify their Son." Ordered the bearded Priest as he knelt before the Gerudo. Holding the Ring to him, offered upon the cushion with the slightest of sparkles to call its new owner, the large man slowly rose from the seat of power, for once more than keen to obey.

Zelda's heart fluttered wild, madly beating like a drum in her frail chest, as her exhilaration peaked. _This is it, _her mind squealed, the pride of her part in it overwhelming as her stomach filled with butterflies. She stepped forth from her place with grace, fluid movement only adding to her already angelic form, and holding the silvered blade high, gave an incline of her head. Looking up at him, her gaze locked with that of the new King, and in that moment a thousand things were said between them in a glance. Presenting him with the Sword of State, her fingers unfurled lightly, giving away the last key to his rise.

Ganondorf smiled down at her, caught up in the beauty of the moment to give an instant of rare hesitation, if only to capture the image in his mind. He reached out to wrap bandaged fingers about the hilt of it, feeling the intricate filigree coiled about beneath his fingers—such a delicate blade, made for men who would sit so far behind enemy lines in war, and lord over their peons with luxuries in times of peace. It was almost an insult to him that the symbol of this was a sword; Gerudo may live or die by their blades, and the skill at which they were wielded. But as he lifted it lightly, feeling the deceptive weight and the fine balance, it occurred to him that perhaps this sword had seen its birth for the female monarchs; this was without a doubt, a blade forged for Zelda.

And here, it was he who would take it up from her hands. _How fitting, _he thought, bringing it up before him to marvel, _the sword of a Queen, used instead to cut the tether of her own authority._

He brought the steel down upon his left hand, sliding it cleanly across to rend exposed flesh with a shallow cut, thick blood spilling forth to fill his palm and coat the sword—he remembered then, with humour, what he'd said to Zelda the night he'd taken her; reminded by the sting of it. _A flash of pain, swift and fleeting, for the reward of our union._ Glancing at the girl, a low chuckle passed largely unheard as he passed the blade back into her waiting hands, claimed as it was by his essence.

Offering the Priest his hand, the Signet Ring was taken up to be dipped once in the pooling blood, delicately and carefully so that no more than a drop would coat the emblem of it, and slid onto his large finger easily though the fit was tight. As the representative of the Council came forth from his place at the side, a scroll of parchment was unfolded, documenting in words the declarations he'd sworn to upkeep. Turning, it was as easy as pressing the ring to the bottom of it, no signature required as it was sealed in blood, an abomination forged by the union of Royal regalia and the crimson stain of a Thief.

Holding back his smirk, though it undoubtedly came through, the final empty promise was uttered. "All things I have here before promised and sworn to, I will perform and keep, by the Grace of our Goddesses." He purred, glad for the end of his speaking as the iniquity began to slip through like poison.

Turning back toward the Priest, he watched the old man take up the other cushion from the vassal, holding it high to him with his head bowed. The Crown glinted still in the light cast from the stained glass above, shining with reward and causing fingers to twitch, all of the Gerudo's will put into allowing refined and dignified movements now that this came to a close. Reaching out slowly, as if it all may disappear as a mirage, his fingers brushed the side of the cold metal, sending shivers down his spine. With a final spasm of paranoia, Ganondorf scanned the chamber—smiles, fond stares, bowed heads. Zelda at his side, practically beaming; a vision as she held the blood lined Sword. The Priests before him, Holy men, so humbled and crushed by his new status that they could no longer look him in the eye, kneeling as if their legs had buckled beneath the sheer weight of his presence.

And safely stowed below, in the depth of his castle, sat the would-be Hero in chains.

With finality, a calm unlike any Ganondorf had felt overcame him as everything seamlessly fell together, lifting the Crown from the material with ease and all the care of handling a feather. _To the future, which will be forged with their memories, _he thought; every person in the room matched by the fleeting specters of his lost people, smiling upon him in spirit as the Crown of Hyrule was placed soundly atop his head.

_Where it belongs._

"Long live the King!" Came the cry, an explosion like thunder as the applause and cheers broke the solemn nature of the event to betray the sheer relief and joy of those attending.

Such a cheer echoed down into the Castle floors below, and caught on like wildfire to be carried upon the breath of all who heard it in turn. Within minutes, it had reached the Townsfolk, and as if swept up in a tornado born of a breezing excitement, the small city chorused in a cacophony of likewise cries as the sound bled out across the fields; not a man, woman or child unaware of the Country's new Ruler.

The hours passed easily as the resonance of celebrations rang out across the land, mugs overflowing with mead and laughter bubbling with it, the entire Town caught up in festivities of their own design. The castle itself had hushed into a more refined state, though it was clear to any perusing the halls, the moods of all within were high. Council affairs had begun again smoothly, decorum and order restored now that they once again had a leader to refer to; the Late King's estate had been tended to now, last Will and Testament thoroughly sorted and put into place.

Far from the bustling Council chambers, Zelda sat referring to it in her father's private study, skimming over the details as Shad had requested of her—everything seemed to be in order, and with a sigh of relief, she set the papers aside with a blink of tired eyes. The wiry old man smiled at her, pushing his spectacles up the bridge of his nose expectantly with a forefinger.

"Well, Zelda, that should just about cover it if you're satisfied…" He chimed, giving a spirited gesture of the book he held. "I do apologize for calling upon you like this. I can assure you I've gone through it all very carefully, but I wouldn't feel right if it didn't pass before your eyes, either way."

The Princess smiled gently, dismissing his comment with a casual wave of her hand. "Oh, no, it's quite alright, Shad. I don't mind at all… in fact, I'm thankful that you think my approval important." She laughed, with an emphatic and humorous bemusement. "Nobody else would consider it terribly pressing that I be kept involved."

"Yes, quite …Oh, Erm… Well, No, not to say that…" He fumbled, twiddling his bowtie nervously, before clearing his throat to correct himself. "I simply mean to agree that, in official matters, it is a shame that personal sentiments are often lost to necessity."

Zelda giggled some, watching him squirm—he still reminded her of a penguin, and this particular day, he was wearing harlequin socks in yellow and black checks for all to see; Gods only knew why. Her bare toes curled idly, watching his tics and quirks with affection, and after a moment she gathered up the paper to stack it neatly, straightening them against the table with light taps. "Well, I am glad you are not like the other members, and if I've not told you, I hope you never change." She offered lightly, eyes settling upon him with a twinkle as she held the documents out for him to take.

"Ah, very good, then… I aim to please, after all." Shad chuckled with a light wobble of his head, stepping forward to claim them. No sooner were they in his grasp, however, did he straighten, looking a bit confused as to what to do with himself. "Oh, yes…" He mused, looking about himself in a slightly frantic manner as he remembered. "I've also brought a few items for you, Zelda, bare with me a moment…" He turned in place, gaze looking around and down to the papers, back to the table; it was obvious he wasn't sure what to do.

"Ah!" He cried, grinning with a lopsided smile as he hopped toward the writing desk, putting the stack down along with his book and freeing up his hands. "There we go… Now, let's see… Here we are!"

Zelda leaned in an attempt to look past him as he opened a draw, fumbling some before removing a small wooden chest—it looked a bit like a jewelry box. He took something else, though she couldn't see, wrapped in cloth as it was, and she squinted with curiosity. She wasn't entirely sure which caught her attention more; watching Shad fumble about in his odd way, as if he were unable to prioritize the smallest of things, or the surprises he'd managed to organize in spite of it.

Turning on his heel triumphantly, the elderly scholar defied his age once again, practically bounding over to her as if it were a sin to keep her waiting. The look on his face was priceless; the way he smiled so brightly, eyes shimmering with excitement behind his glasses. Zelda couldn't help but laugh at him, his mirth contagious.

"By the Gods, Shad…" She giggled, "Sometimes, I think you are positively mad."

Shad paused, blinking once and looking around himself, before sending her a mischievous look. "All the best people are, my Dear." He chuckled, setting the box down and bringing a chair close. As he sat, he placed the bundle of cloth down with care, straightening his vest and removing his glasses to gesture them at the items. "Well, go on, now. Have a look!"

Reaching forward with all the exuberance of a child receiving birthday presents while hopped up on sugar toffees, Zelda took the box with a bright smile, setting it down in front of her and unclipping the latch quickly. The designs upon the wood were lovely—above the latch itself was the crest of the Royal Family, every edge of the polished wood engraved with flowing patterns, like waves or a depiction of the wind. Tentatively, she opened it, setting the lid back and removing the layer of blue silk covering whatever lay within.

What she found surprised her, delicate brows furrowing some to focus upon something familiar, yet new. A silver-white baton, fit for a Royal orchestra, stared back at her with a soft and enchanting glow. Just above the handle of it, two spirals swept out with subtlety, matching the designs of its case. Removing her gloves slowly to place them aside, she allowed herself to stare at it some before gingerly plucking it from the mould.

Shad could hardly contain himself, leaning forward in his seat with a proud and almost grandfatherly look as he put elbows upon the table, holding his spectacles in front of him. "I don't know if you remember, Zelda, but when you were very small, your Mother held quite a fascination with Music… as did your Father. One of the things that bound them so tightly together as friends, in their youth. It was only natural that Music would play quite the role in their romance, as well." He chuckled, nodding toward the baton. "That was a gift from your Mother to your Father, and for years he conducted with it. A passion of his, truly… But he gave it away when your Dear Mother passed. Reminded him too fiercely of his loss, I suppose…"

Zelda, though listening intently, couldn't offer Shad so much as a glance, taken with it as she was. Holding it up to the fading daylight through the windows, she inspected it carefully with furrowed brows, trying to remember a time when she'd seen it before. Slowly, it came back to her, faint and vague though it was, and she nodded. "That's right… I do remember, once, when Mother started to become ill, Father gathered us up in a drawing room and conducted for her to raise her spirits…"

The scholar nodded, sharing in the remembrance. "Yes, your Mother was particularly fond of watching him conduct…" He sighed lightly, taking a small cloth from his chest pocket and polishing the rims of his glasses. "She used to believe such performances pleased the Gods, as well. In fact, upon their wedding day, your Father conducted the Sages themselves as a gift to her, and thereafter, the Royal couple was blessed by each of them. It was a fine day, that… not a cloud in the sky."

The Princess couldn't help but smile, finally tearing her eyes away to peer down into her lap. How much she'd forgotten of her parents, in these years past… the most precious memories, slipping away under strained relationships and protocol. It was a pity and a sin, but here she felt some of them returned to her, and it made the burden of her Father's death all the lighter, little by little. Running slender fingers across the smooth surface, she gave a whimsical sigh, charmed.

"No wonder Father was so insistent upon my learning an instrument." She mused, forgiving such a thing now that she held a better understanding of what drove it. "Seeing those old things reborn in me must have meant the world to him…"

"Indeed, Zelda… And if it's not too bold to say, you share his musical ability." He smiled warmly, tucking the cloth back into his pocket as his glasses found their place over his eyes again. "Your performance at the Gala was wonderful. Perhaps you might start conducting yourself? It may bring you closer to your father, even if it does come slightly late… Some of his ashes were infused in that Baton, you know; a request made in his Will, if you didn't catch it. You might literally consider it conducting 'with' him, eh?"

Zelda blinked, looking slightly surprised at that. "His ashes, really?" She queried, turning her gaze upon the baton with fresh scrutiny. "Well, I suppose that might be why I didn't recognize it very well… The design has been altered slightly, hasn't it?"

"Yes, it has, actually. Very astute of you, Zelda, you see, there originally was no second ornamental loop. The first had been copied, slightly thicker, to hold some of his ashes, yes." Shad explained, once again pushing the glasses up his nose out of pure habit. "It's also why I wasn't able to get it to you until now, of course."

Placing it back into the case carefully, with a new respect for the item's meaning, Zelda closed the latch slowly, allowing her fingers to linger upon the wood. "…That's alright." She smiled softly, glancing up at him with gracious ad appreciative eyes. "It was well worth waiting for. I'll be sure to treasure it… And you know, perhaps I will try my hand at conducting, now that you mention it."

The scholar interlaced his fingers with a wry look, peering at the untouched bundle of cloth eagerly. "If you like that, my Dear, you will adore the next gift. I daresay, what with the busy nature of being Regent, your Shiekah will be a bit pressed to spend time away from you… but this may at least keep you in constant contact, besides." He offered vaguely, thoroughly enjoying his role in assuring Zelda received such things. Matching her quizzical look with a quirk of his eyebrow, Shad chuckled. "Another token of your Father and Mother's relationship in early days… Sheik should appreciate this one, as I know you will—you certainly inherited the King's legacy."

Unable to stop herself, curiosity running rampant, the Princess all but snatched the small bundle, unwrapping it with suspicion. With the final layers pulled away, two small crystal stones lay there, crude in comparison to the baton, with leather string wrapped around them. It almost looked as if they were made in haste, roughly cut and only polished until smooth enough to avoid injury. But what struck Zelda most, piquing her interest, was the tiny hint of magic laced through them, prickling her fingers with a static feeling as they drew near.

"...Alright, Shad, you have my interest… now tell me. What are they?" She asked coyly, leaning her chin upon her palm as she dangled one from her fingers, watching it spin lightly at the end of its string. "These are enchanted… I thought my father didn't use magic."

"These would be the exception, my Dear." Shad chuckled, somewhat smug though still enthusiastic. He reached forward to pluck the other up, holding it lightly between his fingers. "You've no doubt heard of the Shiekah making 'Gossip Stones' to carry the whispers of the past to new generations? Well, you're father made these, modeled on that idea. When he was a boy, he was fascinated by crystals, you see; bought these from a band of Gypsy women, and was reprimanded for it heavily, if I recall." He laughed, shaking his head.

"But that's another tale entirely… About the time he first met your Mother, Zelda, his schedule didn't allow for much in the way of courtship, and as beautiful as she was, there were quite a number of men after her affections. Not to be outdone, your father enlisted my help in studying into a way to communicate with her without restriction, so that even if he didn't have a chance to see her, they would always be in touch. When we stumbled upon the concept of Gossip Stones, he was intrigued, and spent at least a month with this crazy idea in his head, trying to make it work with what little he knew of magics at the time. It didn't take him long to work out an enchantment for it, but none of the materials he tried heralded an acceptable result."

Shad had taken on a soft expression as he privately relived the past, but a humorous twitch of his nose brought it back to a jovial one. "But then, as a maid was cleaning his quarters one day, she almost threw out his old collection of crystals. After barking at her, and a few tears later, I suppose he figured he might try his hand and see if they worked… A pity the poor woman was rattled for his eureka though." He chortled.

Zelda, quite caught up in the story—as was always the case when Sir Shadrian told them—giggled with a knowing look, twiddling the odd stone in her fingers. "And they did, I assume, given they're before us now?"

"Quite right you are Zelda! My word, you are very bright for your age…" He blinked, not realizing that he'd made it very obvious. Her laughter at his response only confused him to the point more, but gathering himself, he nodded the affirmative to speak over the girl's giggling. "But yes, in any case, he was successful. Without these, my dear, you may well not have ever been born! Fascinating to think about, really… Still, these should see you and your… erm… secretive suitor, shall we say, keep very well abreast of each other even as duty calls."

"Thank you, very much, Shad…!" Zelda cackled, trying to settle herself. After a moment, the snigger subsided into a cheerful smirk, and clearing her throat lightly, she nodded to gather the two stones up again. "That's wonderful, really… You've been so good to me through this whole affair. You cannot know how much it means to me, truly."

With something of a sheepish blush, a hand came to fidget with the side of his spectacles. "Er, yes, well… You are very welcome, Zelda, but I've done nothing really…" He offered lamely, placing the stone he held back into the fold of the fabric. "I am just glad to see you faring well, despite the mess of the last few days."

Pausing, the Princess brought a hand to lazily twiddle the Shiekah pendant she wore in thought, glancing to the high windows. "Yes, it has been… a bit chaotic, really…" She agreed distractedly, watching as the sun set slowly behind the trees. "I should be heading back to my rooms, actually. You've a wonderful knack for distracting and cheering me, Shad, but there are always more pressing things on the horizon to think about."

Zelda sighed, closing her eyes. "I'm still so tired… I know I should be training, but I just feel like all the wind has been sucked from my sails." Shaking her head lightly, she scoffed at the way she sounded. "Normally, it would be expected, wouldn't it? After all, so much has happened, my Father was killed, traitors captured, Sheik gained regency… And I'm not really any different for it am I? Just tired."

The scholar licked his lips thoughtfully, words poised to comfort, but he decided against it. The Princess deserved honest counsel, and if he could provide that, he would—he had sworn to do so. "Zelda," He broached tentatively, "Everybody grieves in their own way… I know that you and your Father had your issues, and I'm well aware that you both cared for each other despite them. But you… Erm… Well, Zelda, you are not normal. You are the Bearer of Wisdom, and as such, if you've kept such a level head through these affairs, you shouldn't be doubtful of yourself."

"Everybody grieves in their own way…" She repeated with a hollow sound, staring off into the distant fires upon the horizon. "But honestly, Shad, I feel as if I haven't grieved at all. In fact… I've spat pity upon my father's soul, if anything, and moved on quickly and without hesitation. I'm aware that it may be a byproduct of Wisdom, and sensing the bigger picture of things and what's to come, but at the same time I can't help but feel a bit…"

She felt his eyes studying her with concern as she breathed out the word, slouching some as if defeated by an unseen force, fingers taking to fidgeting. "…Heartless."

"Heartless? My dear, now, come… that is a bit harsh upon yourself, Zelda." The scholar boggled at the thought. "I can assure you, as I've watched you grow from a wee little taddy into the woman you are now, I've seen nothing but a warm hearted, kind and wonderfully keen individual." He soothed, pushing back his chair to stand. "Why Zelda, you're everything you should be, and if that's 'heartless' then I truly hope you're named the Queen of Ice. Sheik certainly wouldn't have you any other way, now would he?"

A nerve was struck then, as Zelda's breath stilled suddenly, a chill whipping through her—had Shad only been aware of their plans to mould her into exactly that, perhaps he wouldn't have been so soft on the matter. She was partly Shiekah, and with the burdens of her future looming closer everyday, the Princess had already resolved to harden her heart and encase it in frost if need be. After all, the training of which she now spoke was not the sort she'd received as a child. She was, by all rights, to become an assassin's apprentice in practice and with real consequence.

Sheik specifically required it of her in fact, though it was by her desires he drew this need.

The corners of her mouth gave a nervous twitch, icy pink lips pulling back to hide it with a saccharine smile—one she'd swore never to force again, and now gave to shad, of all people. "Yes…" She conceded slowly, trying to look relieved. "I suppose not…"

She stood suddenly, chair scraping back across the polished floor with an awful sound as her fingers bunched into her skirts. "I thank you, Shad. As always, you've been of great assistance and counsel to me… forgive my lamentations, again, I've burdened you with my worries…" it was almost defensive, the way she uttered it, leaning to quickly take up the items she'd inherited and pile them in her arms, clutched to her chest. She needed to leave, quickly, unable to face her old friend and teacher now that she'd given him her fake smile.

Shad paused, sensing something of discomfort, and gestured to her in what could almost be taken as a reach for her hand. "Zelda, you know very well your welfare is no burden to me." He offered, though laced in his words was a question—he could tell by the way her eyes flitted sideward that something was wrong, his brows furrowed in concern, obvious and open.

Zelda could've fainted as she saw his hand extended to her—so subtle, almost innocuous, and yet there it was. The hand she'd waited her whole life to be given, taking hers in a safe and caring grasp… Shad was very nearly family to her, but the fact remained that he was not obligated to care for her. He offered it so easily, without expecting anything in return. Unlike her father, unlike anybody save for Sheik himself, the scholar reached out to her, literally and emotionally, and it broke her heart that she'd betrayed the one thing she'd prayed for all her life.

Looking pale, as if she'd seen a ghost, Zelda felt the false smile defy her again, cracking her heart in two as she returned to him dishonesty for his genuine concerns. "I know, Shad, as I said, I'm merely tired… I've a headache coming on, I think, after a long day. I'll have to bid you goodnight for now I'm afraid… I'm going to retire early tonight." She lied, retreating into herself as her crystalline eyes became dulled.

The wiry man hesitated, his fingers curling reflexively as the hand was withdrawn slowly, hovering in front of his chest. A light smile, empathetic for the girl, breathed a small sigh. "If you insist, my Dear… Rest well, and all that, I suppose I shall see you tomorrow. Remember, Zelda, if you ever need anything, don't hesitate to ask." He offered her a pointed glance, something akin to a parent waiting upon a child to break into tears after holding a brave face.

Zelda nodded quickly, bowing her head and turning with a twirl of her skirts to scurry away—tuck herself away and hide from his gaze for a while until she could compose herself. "I will… Good Evening, Shad…" She called over her shoulder, not once returning her eyes to the scholar as bare feet carried her swiftly away with all the speed she'd trained for. She hardly registered leaving the room; the cold touch of the door handle upon her hands hinting that she'd left her gloves behind.

All she could think about was that damning moment, a false smile to refuse the kindness she'd been dreaming of since childhood.

_Oh Gods, what has become of me…_her panicked mind echoed, unable to be silenced as Zelda walked briskly through the halls. _How could I lie to Shad like that, after all he's done for me? I was done with those hollow smiles! I __**am**__ done with them!_ Her head shook in denial as her pace turned swiftly into a run, moving through the castle as a fleeting bolt. _I truly have become heartless! I haven't grieved for my father, I abandoned him to the mercy of a killer, and then I've denied the only resident of this damned castle who cares for me besides Sheik! _

Was it simply habit that the accursed smile demanded of her still formed, or was it her own doing, a subconscious rejection of those who stepped forth, too little too late?

Bare feet continued to hit the carpet with muffled, fleeting sounds, the Princess herself like a wild wind were she ran, until turning the corner to round quickly, a door came into view. Desperate to hide herself, feeling shamed, she reached for it, almost dropping the wooden case as her hand fumbled to wrench the door open. She slipped through the gap like a shadow, into the darkness behind the door to slam it as she turned, holding a palm to the wood as she steadied herself. Here now, she was away from the eyes of others, hidden, and in that she felt secure.

Closing her eyes for a moment of respite, blinded by the darkness and allowing her vision to adjust behind her eyelids, Zelda released a shaky breath. "Look at yourself," She hissed in the shadows, "You're making a mockery of your own word!" Her hand thumped upon the door as a fist, determination filling her veins. "It's just a smile and a little white lie, they meant nothing. No not even that, I never lied, I simply did not tell…" She tried so desperately to convince herself, but the child in her knew better—Zelda had isolated herself in a world of her own making, and forsaken everything else in order to keep it intact.

"If we go ahead giving lies to the world, wearing masks, what is to say that any accomplishment of ours is truly us?" She asked the silence, facing herself down as if another entity shared her form. "I won't live like that, I swore not to and I turned my back on my own father to see it done. The Shiekah way is to guard and protect…" Came her own answer, her hand drifting from the door to clutch the pendant. "They exist as a façade for their wards alone… The Shiekah in me shall protect the Princess, not the Princess to guard the Shiekah."

Raising her head, her eyes opened to glare into the darkness, finding her vision now accustomed to the lack of light, and turned to enter further inward. But as her bare feet did not meet the plush comfort of the old rug upon her floor, the Princess realized she now stood in another room. These were not her chambers, but that of Sheik's; drawing deep of it, the scent gave it away. Incense, smelling like the deepest earth, thick upon the air and heavy like a blanket, though not terribly overwhelming—perhaps due to her growing used to it over the years, the scent following her attendant. Her legs moved of their own accord, wandering to the bed over cold stone as a calm took her over.

This place felt like him.

Placing the wooden case upon the side table, bundled stones upon it, Zelda negligently left them be for the moment to flop down upon his bed. It was firmer than she was used to, but instantly soaked up the heat of her body to become cozy. A content sigh came rolling from her lips as she curled, snuggling into the sheets without disturbing them too greatly, blinking tiredly against the dark. It was so much darker than her own chambers—Zelda was never a morning person, and so kept her curtains drawn, but even that didn't hold the same sort of ethereal shadow as this. It was almost as if the Shiekah had painted his rooms with shadow, forever cloaked in it as was natural for one of his clan.

It wasn't particularly well furnished, she noticed as her eyes wandered this new sight; a plain vanity, bold and masculine in make, with sturdy drawers… over in the corner there, a small table that looked almost taken from a tavern, some books and papers upon it. He probably used it as a makeshift writing desk. This bed, large though without canopy, bore sheets upon it purely for necessity and the pillows only two, unlike her personal seven. The side table, nondescript and seeming to match the vanity, and over against the wall, a humble bookcase lined with only a select few tomes. It was modest to say the least, without even a rug to line the floor.

Her toes twitched some as Zelda realized, almost painfully, how pampered she truly was. The Shiekah took only what he needed, and resided in a humble abode, though as she lay there upon his bed, she couldn't help but prefer the largely empty rooms; they were simple and practical, without fuss or complication. They did not comfort with luxury or provide accommodating atmosphere or an illusion of status. They were just like Sheik; to the point, practical, necessary, and real.

And she loved it; despite the cold, and the emptiness, she felt at home here all the same… perhaps even more than her own chambers across the way.

She turned to sit up, lazy in the movement as her hands sought to free her of the multiple coats of clothing left from the day's events—she'd removed her shoulder plates at the earliest convenience, but even then, she felt stifled under the various skirts and layered bodice. Pulling at strings and tugging at fabric, she wriggled and squirmed about, removing the lilac overtop and the soft white dress, tossing them aside to hang precariously over the edge of the bed. Fingers attacked her back with annoyance, loosening the ties of her corset as it was ripped from her torso, Zelda's lungs filled with twice the breath as before the instant it was gone—the dreadful thing was tossed clear across the room, in spite.

Left in her petticoat, the Princess fell back with arms outstretched, landing with a might poof of the slip and a rush of forced air in the sheets beneath. She spread out to lie there, basking in relief, and closed her eyes to the inviting darkness. Tense muscles relaxed and uncoiled; golden tresses splayed out behind her head like rays of sunlight radiating outward.

"Ah… that is so much better…" She breathed, a small grimace held as her forearm came to rest above her head. "I hate that dress… so much… So many damn layers… I would love to be able to just get about in sundresses, like normal people."

"…Not as much as I would love seeing you in sundresses…" Chuckled a rich voice, startling her with a jolt as it came forth with a low rumble. "But more than that, seeing you get out of them."

Zelda sat bolt upright, so quickly it made her feel faint, to stare wide eyed into the shadow as wayward curls fell about in disarray. There, in the darkness with a glint of amusement shining in his crimson eyes, her attendant stood leaning against the wall beside his door, smirking wickedly with a smug arch of his brow. Immediately, she reached for a pillow, tossing it at him with a huff.

"How many times have I told you NOT to DO THAT!" Zelda cried, gritting her teeth as she realized he had likely heard half of her babbling, at least. _How on earth does he manage to sneak up on me like that? It's like he always knows where I am…Well, of course he does, it is him, after all, _she conceded mentally, narrowing her eyes at the man. _Was he in the room already, or did he slip in while I was distracted?_

Ganondorf grinned an evil smile, baring canines with a playful tilt of his head as his arms unfolded, a slow step taken as he moved off of the wall. "I think a better question is… What exactly are you doing in my chambers at this hour, while night is breaking?" He purred, a want in his voice, subdued though it was.

Even now, as the Princess continued to grow, he still enjoyed sneaking up behind her; watching her jump and hearing the yelp, seeing muscle twitch beneath taut skin and seeing the flush of pink overcome her cheeks when she frowned thereafter. It was a guilty pleasure of his, and still just as childish as when he'd first arrived, but the habit died hard and he did rather like the fleeting moment of fright in her eyes when he caught it. Hell, coming into herself, it even stirred him up a little to see her bust bounce when she jumped, and feeling goose bumps upon her flesh wherever his fingers traced.

Better yet, she'd tucked herself away, undressed, in his rooms. She was practically begging for it and he was in just the sort of mood to comply—in fact, he was in a good mood all around.

Zelda glared at him chastisingly through the dark, crossing her arms beneath her chest with a slight pout to her lips. Remaining silent until her attendant had come to stand at the bedside, she peered up at him unrepentantly. "I didn't mean to be." She spat, raising a shoulder defensively before throwing herself back upon the bed, hands settled behind her head and eyes closed. "It was the first door I saw, and I was distracted… I thought it was my rooms, for a moment, but when I realized I was in yours, I got comfortable. Yours is mine and all." She smirked.

The Gerudo made a thoughtful hum, though it quickly became a snicker—_yours is mine, indeed, Zelda._ The Crown was proof enough of that. He moved to sit with her, the bed shifting beneath his weight as he followed her suit, removing the white fabric about his neck and tossing it aside. "I won't object to that, my Sweet. Make yourself as comfortable as you wish." He mused, running fingers through his hair to muss it slightly, taking an elbow to lean upon his knee.

The Princess shifted some, squirming a little to turn on her side, looking up at his sculpted back and tracing the contours of it that were visible in the shadow. Her fingers plucked idly at the sheets, and it was obvious to him that she wished to say something, but wasn't sure of what. After a few moments, Zelda seemed to relax enough to touch his thigh with her foot, pressing lightly and urging him to speak for her.

"If you intend on staying the night, Zelda, you'd best fetch whatever you need for the morning now." He rumbled, peeling the top half of his attire away and over his head. "Returning to your rooms tomorrow runs the risk of handmaidens asking questions. If you're dressed, you can at least say you were simply up before them."

Her hand slipped out from under her head as Zelda allowed herself to slump back down with a sigh. "…How romantic and spontaneous…" She sniped with a sarcastic roll of her eyes. But then she was reminded of the gifts, blinking as a grin came to her face. "…Luckily, I haven't lost my touch. I have a surprise for you." The foot prodded him again, teasingly.

Ganondorf glanced at her over his shoulder, taking an extra moment to ready himself for any number of things that could mean as he folded the upper garb negligently. "Alright, I'll humour you… What horrors have you in store for me?" He asked casually, disguising his worry with a joke.

Zelda beamed excitedly to herself, suddenly moving with a flurry of her slip to crawl across behind him, reaching out and feeling for the bundle of cloth upon the side table. When it brushed her fingers, she snatched it up, gathering it close to her chest as she walked on her knees to circle around his back. She settled beside him with a small hop, crossing her legs, her left leg restlessly bouncing with an eager tic.

She held her palm up, effortlessly igniting a purple flame to be caged in her fingers, flickering a moment before it raised high to bathe them in a soft, lilac glow. Zelda's magical talents had come far since her training began, and in this simple spell was shown a great deal of progress; something that she always took silent pride in. Clearing her throat to call attention, she was distracted only briefly by the sight of the shirtless man before her.

Ganondorf smirked as soon as he noticed the blush tinge her cheeks, faint as it was in the soft light, and just to irk her, he allowed himself to slowly lean back and prop himself up on his elbows—this way she would have no choice but to look at him, and what a wonderful view he gave her, muscle definition highlighted by shadows.

Ignoring this as best she could, Zelda set the bundle between them, focusing upon it. "My father left me a few things in his Will, of course… and these were part of that…" She started, unfolding the cloth to reveal the crystal stones. "I bet it's been a while since you've seen something like this." She chimed, happy with a shared sense of nostalgia.

Unfortunately, Ganondorf didn't have any nostalgia to share. In fact, he didn't have the foggiest idea what the hell they were, or why she was so excited about them—cloudy, chipped crystals on tacky leather strings. _…Well, so much for leaving her the family jewels, _he thought cynically. Still, he played along, copying her expression and forcing a smirk of false recognition.

"Ah…" He hummed, plucking one up for inspection. "It has indeed. Wherever did he get them? I haven't seen an example quite like this before." It was a shot in the dark, but it may buy him time; though his fingertips he could feel a small and simple enchantment, but he couldn't quite pinpoint what it did. Perhaps a luck charm? _No, it's romantic, she said so herself, _he thought, correcting the assumption. "…And in a matching pair, how unique." He added for good measure, waiting for her to elaborate.

That seemed to do the trick though, as Zelda sent him a sweet smile. "He made them, actually." She explained, without fail. "Isn't it clever? Gossip stones that you can talk through, instead of simply leave messages in... They only respond to each other, but that's all we need… I'm still a bit surprised my father thought of something like this, but then he was always one for practicality."

Arching a brow as his interest was caught, Ganondorf turned the small gem over in his hand, squinting with perusal as he considered this. That had potential, an open link between Zelda and himself, which was currently unavailable by other means—the necklace served its purpose well, but this heralded an opportunity for Zelda to keep him well aware of what was happening, when it happened.

Smoothing out his lie to cover his lack of knowledge, he chuckled. "It is very clever, indeed. The Elder often used an advanced form of gossip stone to leave me instruction… A small one that could fit in your hand, reusable and somewhat like this…" Thinking on his feet, he glanced at the gem. "We called it a message stick."

Zelda seemed to stare at him a moment, her charmed expression fading into one of reflection, somber. Turning the stone in her fingers gently, she considered telling him of her earlier troubles, and in the private light cast over them she found the courage to do so, not knowing how he may react.

"Sheik… This may seem a bit off topic, but…" She started nervously, flashing a tiny grimace in her hesitance. "Is it… Is it wrong to lie to those who care about me… if it means sparing them painful details?" Biting her lip lightly, her gaze quickly turned to her lap, somewhat ashamed for even asking.

The Gerudo cast her a stern glare, his worry flooding back. Damn her and the habit she had of being cryptic at the worst possible times—it was never clear what sort of dangerous territories she may venture into when she spoke like that. Taking a slow breath as his posture straightened some, as if pulling away from her in a deliberate recoil, he tested the waters before diving in.

"That's a rather worrying question, Zelda, in the implication that you've been dishonest with those closest to you…" He pried, squinting dangerously. _Gods help you if you've lied to me, _he thought viciously. "What was it you lied about?"

Shifting uncomfortably, Zelda flicked blonde curls from her face with a shy manner. "…Becoming a… killer…" She murmured softly, shaking her hand as if trying to offer up the words physically. "… I feel so heartless. I was talking with Shad earlier, and I just couldn't tell him that I was going to start… training for the kill. I felt like it would break him to hear such a thing of me." A heavy sigh came as her head hung.

"I haven't been able to grieve for my father, and I gave Shad my act today when he got concerned. I just shrugged him off like his care for me meant nothing at all, and meanwhile he's telling me about how kind I am; if only he knew the truth…" She cringed. "I thought finally, I was past that, I suppose… I treated one of my oldest friends no better than I would have done my father. I don't know why it's so reversed; I use my identity as a Princess to cover up and protect the Shiekah, but by all rights, it should be the other way around. It was meant to be the other way around."

With some relief, Ganondorf's grip upon the stone—crushing as it had become—loosened as he gave a nod of understanding. Given her ancestor, it would make sense that she felt so strongly about such a thing; Sheik was the Shield, not the Princess, and to live in the reverse defied the purpose of her alter ego entirely.

Retrospectively, he supposed he should have seen this internal dilemma coming on. So long had Zelda spent trying to hide their lessons and dealings, forged into the warrior she once was in another life; it was unnatural for her character to be dishonest or selfish, and that fact alone was why the original Sheik had been born at all. He had not accounted for the toll upon the Princess as he drew out 'Sheik' from deep within her, gradual and agonizing a process as it was. But with a wealth of new knowledge upon the subject of a Shiekah's role, lent to him by his rendezvous with TwinRova, perhaps her concerns stemmed not from the ancestor he knew, but of an ingrained behaviour and instinct—the flesh captured memories that were little more than fleeting whims now.

Silently he studied her, drinking in her features and ruminating upon the Goddess Hylia, sealed within her mortal form; the third and much less prominent ego he'd never known until recently. The necklace could save her from inheriting the memories of her predecessor, yes, and even block the call of Wisdom, but the Goddess within was perhaps more tenacious than that. Worse, was there was no way for him to know if his pendant would shield her from those ancient and so powerfully embedded perceptions. What he did know, however, was that she was correct in her instinct—the Shiekah were indeed meant to protect her and serve as a barrier from harm, be it mental or physical.

Remembering the true Sheik, it was only fitting that Zelda's own guise had been that of a Shiekah, and it rang true then that Hylia herself was far more influential than he could have ever expected, even had he known. The Gerudo could never have accounted for such a thing in the outset, as outrageous as it seemed, but now he knew what he was dealing with there was a chance he could direct it with more precision than before; exploiting those instincts and twisting them ever so slightly to keep her on the right path.

Choosing his words carefully, he decided to relay what he himself had been told not days ago, affixing his ward with a reassuring glance and reaching to tilt her chin up, so that she may look him in the eye.

"Zelda, I do not think it is wrong to protect those you care for, even if it means omitting certain details. We're living through a very delicate set of circumstances, and unfortunately, it can be hard to relate the gravity of them to others without hurting them in the process, or feeling as though you may have disappointed them… This is a burden we carry and benign lies can serve a great deal of good in assuring nobody else shares that burden." He began, taking care to make his voice sound softer than usual.

"…I myself have omitted details with you, and told a lie here and there, in protecting you." It was a truthful confession, twisted as it would be into something innocent.

Zelda stared up at him, crystalline eyes shining in the camber of the flame, highlighted with a lilac hue against the blue to give a lavender coloring. Her features flashed a subdued myriad of emotion, but with swiftly forged maturity, the Princess found his honesty far easier to accept now than she would have when she was younger. Of course he would have skimmed a few things here and there; deep down she always knew he had, but it was only know could she truly appreciate why.

"…I know." She breathed softly, a tiny smile haunting her lips. "But you always tell me when I'm ready to be made aware, so I suppose I don't mind it…"

The Gerudo inclined his head, running over what he had been told by the witches. "Yes, Zelda, and I'm going to give you one of them now. You recall my first telling you of your origins, and of the Shiekah's past?" He paused, seeing her nod. "Good… That was only half of the story… and it's high time you knew the other part."

Removing his hand from her face, Ganondorf leaned back, giving the girl some space so that he could actively gauge her reactions. Interlacing his fingers in his lap, crimson eyes flashed with acuity, swirling with colour cast by the flame.

"I told you of the divides, and of the parental clan from which the Shiekah came—those ancestors used masks to aid in ritual, if you remember, long ago… But, 'long ago' is perhaps an understatement… they existed in an ancient time; the knowledge of the era slim at best, and largely a mystery to modern scholars and historians, the birthplace of myth, truly. But that parental tribe I mentioned, at the time they practiced, were considered Demonic by all accounts... Though this was not so drastic of the time."

Seeing her brows knit together, he didn't hesitate in explaining just what he meant. "You know of Ghirahim, who acted as a Demonic Lord in those times… and you made quite the fuss over the First Evil. That, Zelda, would be Demise, the King of Demons, as I'm sure Shad has told you… He was correct, Demise was indeed forged of the Hells themselves, and ruler of them, while the Earth was the realm of a lesser Goddess, Hylia. She safeguarded the people crafted by the Great Mothers, and cared for their lands, protecting them from the Darkness beneath."

"In those days, the clan that would later see the creation of the Shadow Folk could be claimed by Demise as his followers. That clan usually dealt in hexing via masks and ritual, though when finally, the Demon lord took up a war against humanity, alliances were tested in all those who had sprung from darkness... The ancient clan was the most like the Hylian kind the Demon King despised, being born to mirror them, and so were tasked with the heaviest duty within his service."

"A mighty weapon was to be forged for Demise, to be used in his claims to power as he searched out the holy relic for himself. This weapon was a sword, living and breathing like a man, though it could take the form of a blade at its master's behest. This weapon... was the demon lord, Ghirahim... and for that task, they were rewarded with their lives, and a fraction of Demise's power. This was where the true shadowmancy and control over death became a staple of the Clan."

"Ghirahim was then sent forth as a general to his master's armies, a plague upon the world and a messenger, to issue the great spirit of light, the daughter of the Goddesses, Hylia, with a challenge. In return, Hylia sent her wards, Hylian kind, to the skies for safe keeping, and looked to the clan who had forged Ghirahim to redeem themselves."

Zelda stared at him in disbelief, though all of it seemed to makes sense, filling in the gaps as she began to piece it all together. Blinking for a moment in thought, she brought a hand to her cheek, remembering the other half of the tale he'd told her so long ago. "That's what split them… into the factions of the Shiekah and the others… isn't it?" she questioned, unable to help herself as she looked to him for confirmation.

The Gerudo gave a nod, impressed by her memory—truly she held onto every word he said, precious. It gave him a satisfaction that was hard to match, her adulation of him never seeming to dull, and a slight smirk wormed its way across his mouth. "Yes, Zelda, it was. Hylia saw the similarity to her own, just as Demise did, but instead of damning them for it she offered a fresh start. She said to them, 'You all are, too, children of the Goddesses, removed only by a thin veil of shadow. Do not let this deter you; I offer you a place within the light, if only you would serve it as you have done the hand of evil in deception and error. Do not let your hatred of humanity be your undoing; so like them are you, that you share their form. You may house the polarities of their hearts within your own chests, but for they feel love as the norm, you only feel a rarity, as is opposite to the ones you would seek to destroy... follow this path and see yourselves destroyed as your reflections are shattered, or accept my guiding hand and step into the light'."

Ganondorf related it verbatim, almost able to hear the voice in his own head, echoing with a sickeningly soft lilt. The way he said it could be taken as respectful, perhaps even admiring, but the truth of the matter was that he hated the concept of such an entity; more than even Demise's influence could demand. In the pit of his gut, his malice boiled and festered for this Hylia, the horrid abomination of the light—the ultimate proof that the Hylians were the favorite children of the Gods, undeniable and shameless. How dare such a thing exist; this force of mercy and salvation for only one races benefit. While his people would suffer and die, half-hearted creations of a rebellious Din, the Hylians were granted their own protector to serve and smile upon them, nurturing them and assuring their lives held meaning.

Even to extend her mercy to those who were born of the darkness itself, taking them in pity—but her weakness would cost her dearly, as he lived to abuse and exploit that sacred pact between the Shiekah and the Hylians.

The very notion of this Hylia insulted him in every way; but knowing that he carried the legacy that saw to her downfall—continued to see to it—healed the wounds ripped open by the knowledge. Here before him was Hylia reborn, and by sheer luck or fate, she was at his mercy. He defiled not only an enemy, twisted and sullied not only a Princess, but shattered and tore asunder the sanctity of a fallen Goddess; stealing her own pitiful race from her care—Zelda's care—to be crushed beneath his boot. All of her efforts in vain as he tended to this mortal incarnation, plunging his claws into her heart and rending the light from it, piece by piece, unwilling to stop until she became as monstrous as the demons Hylia fought…

The Demon in him, tainting his human soul to defeat the light with its own blood born.

The Princess, however, almost felt her heart explode in her chest at these words, seeping into the depths of her with familiarity and truth—It made sense to her now. The Shiekah within her would not feel as she herself did, every emotion to pass through that part of her weak and subdued. But on the other side, the Hylian she was felt so deeply, so adamant in what she knew and experienced; that was why she did not grieve, and yet, felt guilty for the inability to. Such conflict… warring sides, as if remnants of a long lost war still raged in tiny increments, refusing to be ignored.

Seeing the flash of recognition in her eyes, Ganondorf wasted no time in seizing it, angling his approach and tracking every fleeting expression upon her face. "That was how the tribe scattered, broken apart by Hylia's words as some sided with Demise, becoming monstrosities that walk only the night, native to the planes from which Demonkind springs… Others left these lands entirely, seeking their own without an inherited conflict. But, as I have said before, one faction remained within Hyrule, in the midst of this war. The remaining faction became the Shiekah you are familiar with today, with time."

Zelda stared at her hand, her gaze tracing the holy mark as this new history of hers was recorded to memory. It was almost as if she knew all of this, only able to know once told; Sheik was finding and dusting off the relics of the past, hidden deep within her skin once again. She'd never be able to put into words how that made her feel, in awe of the fact that this one man could awaken so much of her world with only words. Even chasing this information down, hungry for more as she deciphered herself over the years she'd known him, it amazed her that only he could tie it all together so neatly, so simply, that in mere minutes her mind and soul seemed to evolve before him.

The Princess knew then that it was far more than simply serendipity, or wishful thinking, or even good timing—Sheik was a living, breathing piece of her own destiny, guiding her ever onward to meet it. Countless eons of events tied the two in fate to meet and be as they were; it was evident in these moments… even remembering how she had felt when he had first revealed her heritage, she was constantly transforming under his care and become more than herself. The mere thought that, somehow, an entire war between Gods and Demons had to be waged in order for their lives to ever occur shocked her, terrified her… She felt humbled and honored all the same, empowered by the knowledge.

Such small strokes they were against the grand picture and yet, so crucial.

Lifting her gaze from the faded triangle of pigment upon her hand, she smiled at him, reliving one of the most precious pieces of her childhood. But even in that, her curiosity got the better of her. "Those that took up Hylia's offer… How did they become the Shiekah? Did they go to the skies as well, to be with the Hylians?"

Ganondorf shook his head, smug with information. "They swore their loyalty to Hylia, and took to her side, to serve her and walk with the Hylians as a part of the Goddesses' children, yes... But not in the skies. Their domain was this one, Hyrule, and always has been; they oversaw the ferrying of Hylians down to the Earth once more. The magics they held were transformed and altered by their mingling with light, and became a tool in which the darkest parts of humanity could be faced, and overcome, lessons being taken—they became prophets and guardians of the legends this way."

"But…" He paused, ready to cover his favorite part with a dark enthusiasm, "…even after centuries, there were still a few who began to question the nature of their service to light, given their birth in shadow. When before them unfolded their own, controlled natures-the rarity of darkness-within the men of the light, once again whispers of the holy power sent shocks of greed and jealousy through the lands. Against the guardianship the Shiekah swore to uphold, the secrets and accounts they held, protected, the word of those secrets was revealed and spread. It was then that the Shiekah who found themselves unsure deemed the Hylian's worthy of their own misery, and realigned themselves with older designs. For their own, now, instead of at a demon's whim, they sought the Relic, thinking themselves able to right the world as its governors."

"As I have told you, that made the tear symbol a permanent part of the Shiekan eye, no longer optional, as the greatest betrayal to the Gods and the Royal family was realized. The bound together with others connected to the darkness, of Gerudo descent, and it was they who revived the elder magics from the times of Demise and Hylia's war. That was when the three artifacts created by the Shiekah were taken back from the royal family, and scattered, hidden. Those who bound together were the dark interlopers of legend to be sealed away within the mirror of the Desert Temple... though it would be years still until the Gerudo's tether to the darkness was fully realized with the rise of the King of Evil, who bore the curse of Demise's hatred."

_Which in retrospect, _he snickered mentally, _was only a curse unto you and your kind; even with the burdens I've faced, the end more than justifies the means, now that your Kingdom lies groveling willingly at my feet._

Zelda frowned then, quizzical, as something didn't add up. "But, if she held such an important part in our histories, why have I never heard of Hylia? …in fact, why hasn't anybody but the most avid scholars? What happened to her?"

A feral smirk overcame him then, greedy for her reaction—he wanted to see if she could put this one together. "When the Great War between Hylia and Demise drew close at hand, the lesser Goddess took drastic measures and sacrificed her power to seal the Demon King away. Her essence was passed down, in mortal form, to the Hylians, and that line was chosen as the Royal family. The Shiekah then took up their guardianship, ever loyal. Some wore the tear even then, based on their brethren's refusal to acknowledge the gods." That said, he waited, peering at his ward expectantly.

It took a few moments, but slowly, the question in the Princess' eyes turned into an answer. Her mouth parted to speak, in shock, but no words came; a finger raising to point at herself stupidly, gaping with wide eyes. He snickered at her, finding it amusing, though the humour was lost on Zelda.

"I… I-I'm… A… G-g—" She stuttered hopelessly, trembling at the sheer weight of the revelation.

"A Goddess, reborn in flesh and blood." He grinned evilly, thoroughly enjoying this as that horrid flash of gold shimmered in his eyes. "Just as the King of Evil is the King of Demons, your equal, reborn."

Staring ahead, blank faced, Zelda's breath stilled; her frame tensed up, and with a slight twitch, the words ran through her mind once more, deafening. She grew pale as the flame above them flickered and died, extinguished as her concentration left her, overwhelmed as her world faded away to narrow down upon a single thought. As the rooms went black, so too did Zelda's vision, a dizzying spin as she fell helplessly backward into unconsciousness.

_I…am a Goddess…_Were the last things to breeze her mind, echoing with the external sound of the Shiekah's snickering, as in the face of all that had happened, the Princess' weary mind gave out on her.

…_I'm his Goddess…_

**A/N:**

**I apologise for this chapter.**

**It's 2 in the morning, I've been up since 5am yesterday, and worked. I've jotted this all down, and I was so itching to get it all out.**

**I'm so sorry if it's all jibber jabber everywhere. MOAR HISTORY. MOAR SHAD. Moar King expansion. **

**Oh god, that coronation was just… ugh… damn oaths and official type things. But hey, it's done. And oh, look, I've done OoT hints, SS, and WW in one chapter, along with a nice little tip to TP. That's my best yet I think?**

**But hey, the Sheik stuff can go ahead as planned now… So can another plot point…and another one… and I should be able to bring back Badon now! Yay!**

**But anyway, I've probably jumped all over the show, and if it's confusing as hell, I'm sorry. I will read through it again tomorrow when I'm not delirious.**

**Also, Epic foreshadowing is Epic.**

**Why must this be so damn complicated UGHUGHUGH! DX No, its ok, I'm ok… Brain is dead, but I'm ok. My mind is going to spasm as this all ties in together from here on out. Wish me luck and pray I don't go into nerd coma.**

**Onward to Glory (and my bed)!**


	18. Escape

Daybreak came slowly, a dark and solemn sort of morning, as over the distant mountains peaked the first hints of sun; the normally fiery hues streaking across the backdrop seemed subdued, lackluster and without the energy they normally held. It was a languid beginning to a day that would see many people hard pressed to leave the warmth of their beds, lingering in neglect of whatever duties they held in waking life to favor instead fleeting dreams and comfort.

Much was the case of the Princess, whom Ganondorf had left tucked soundly in his bed without care for the inquiries of handmaidens.

He himself had barely slept, unable to calm or become comfortable, and had instead taken to reading during the night and amusing himself with such leisures—watching Zelda sleep with the occasional glance and rumination. Even with the knowledge of her as all that she was before; Hylia whom he despised the very thought of, the last Zelda, a sage who had seen him fall, and even the true Sheik, a warrior whom he grudgingly respected despite true identity and the betrayal… all of them seemed so very inconsequential when he looked upon the girl he'd groomed. All of them within her still, and yet, not a one to taint her present form; she was entirely his, and a marvel of his creativity and effort, an achievement he held pride in and affection for.

He had slipped away without disturbing the girl as she slept still, a fond glance spared before closing the door behind him and moving on to begin his day, even earlier than usual. It was no later than the fifth hour since midnight when he'd made his way through the halls, empty as they were with the early time, to stride through to the King's study—his study, now.

No sooner had Ganondorf entered the room though ornate doors did he turn immediate attention to the large, pristine windows he favored. Never should they remain closed. When the King lived, he had always kept the glass shut to the outside world, stifling the blessed breezes that beckoned against the panes—a habit that had annoyed the Gerudo to no end, to the point where he dreaded being called here over the years. Thin white curtains billowed lightly once the newly ritualized task was complete, and with a slow gait to take him across the marble floor toward the writing desk, a lazy spin was given to the Globe in the center of the room.

The Gerudo smirked to himself, idly watching the miniature world turn as the continents flashed across his view. Holodrum was advancing technologically, he knew, while Labrynna kept its naturalistic roots; both of them were of equal interest for conquest, and he couldn't help but wonder what it would take to have them in his grasp as well. Still, he chuckled, taking a dark pleasure in the notion that all the world lay at his fingertips for the taking, especially now he was Hyrule's King once again.

He hummed to himself pleasantly, "…If I ruled the World…" With a cackle he sat at the desk, filing through some things and preparing for another day as the old was put aside for the new. The tattered quill belonging to the old monarch had since been replaced, and the new one was quickly taken up, the lush new feather of it swaying lightly as he wrote.

The sun rose quickly as another few hours passed this way, a lazy and nondescript morning, but as finally the castle began to shift with activity, one soldier tasked with a long journey into its bowels found quite the opposite. Upon arriving at the cells of the dungeon below, torch in hand and eyes caught with the want of sleep still, it took him a few minutes to realize its emptiness. He'd run inward, searching every nook and cranny in panic, despite knowing full well that the empty chains spoke the awful, glaring truth.

Link had escaped.

Without fear for blame, that lone soldier had run as fast as his legs would take him through that labyrinth of stone and moss, climbing stairs with abandon and not slowing even when the plush carpet of the halls ran beneath his feet once more. The alarm of others were raised by the sight of him, though the problem remained in anonymity, and quickly the castle was overcome with worried whispers, guessing as to what unsettled the man so. As the peaceful calm was shattered in his wake, nothing would stop him as he headed straight for the study, where he knew the latest King would be.

Ganondorf paused, a strange premonition running through his bones with a chill, crimson eyes turning to the windows with curiosity—was the breeze turning cold with a morning chill, or was it simply his imagination? With a bemused frown, he pushed his chair back, heavy palms upon the mahogany desk as he rose slowly, but it was then the ornate doors swung open with a boisterous noise.

Blinking up at the sound of metal shifting, armored boots coming to a halt and the sound of panting, the Gerudo could only twitch at the sight of the restless guard, doubled over as he was. He knew him; yes he'd definitely seen him before. This soldier had been with Shiro on the night he'd killed the King, hadn't he? _What was his name…_Slow steps took him away from the desk to approach the man, watching as he struggled to catch his breath in order to speak—already he was mumbling incoherently with a frightened tone.

"S-Sire, The… Th-the…" He gasped out, raising desperate eyes toward the agitated though obviously curious Shiekah. "O-On my r-round… nobody there… g-gone…!" He stuttered breathlessly, standing on wobbly feet as his hands gripped his aching knees—never had he run like that.

Ganondorf snorted at the pitiful state of him, very near to rolling his eyes as his patience was tested; truly, the soldiers of today were useless, and he had a good mind to be rid of at least half of them. With a snarl, he crossed his arms over his chest to stare down at the guard with scorn. _Ah, yes, Mikael, wasn't it? A coward and a flake, if I recall._

"Spit it out, Mikael. This had better be important for bursting into my study like this when you know very well how busy things are… The King left us with quite a few pressing matters, and yours had better be good to top them." He hissed, narrowing an icy gaze.

The soldier flinched at the harsh reception, but quickly attempted to compose himself, heavy breathing stifled as he held it to speak with haste. "F-forgive me, Your Majesty, b-but…" He choked out, swallowing hard and straightening against the protest of his muscles. "T-the cells are… empty… On my rounds, I went to check and there was no prisoner… H-he's gone, Sire…"

The Gerudo's harsh demeanor faded immediately, his arms falling out of their hold as shock clearly took him. _No, that's… not possible…_he thought desperately, panic setting in to match Mikael's. "What?" He blanched, feeling as if the ceiling were about to cave in on top of him, the world shrinking impossibly.

"He's... e-escaped, Sire. Link has escaped…" Came the hollow reply, voice filled with fear and uncertainty.

Ganondorf seemed to go blank, staring at the soldier as his mind went wild, a thousand screaming voices calling him to attention, beckoning new plans, new thoughts, anything to move forward facing this news. He was gone. Link, beyond all odds, against lock and key and even sensory depravation, had found his way out and back into the light of day. Out into his world, where any number of things could happen… where any number of allies could be made, and avenues to his downfall found. Rippling muscles twitched with nervousness, and a truly chilling sense of fear, momentary though it was; in that instant, the Gerudo felt totally powerless.

A feeling that he never could process well, ripping through him as if the Gods thought him some grand joke—built to fail, taunting him with tastes of success before simply tearing it all down around him.

Large hands slowly became tense, drawing into fists as anger took him over, unwilling to let this slide easily. The lightest tremble was visible about his form, as unhidden, a vicious scowl and venomous fangs came forth, his breath seethed through clenched teeth—Mikael shrank back from this show of ire, unsure of whether it was directed at him. Crimson eyes flashed with gold as hellfire sprang to life within, the true demon rising up from the depths despite the guise, and with all the intensity of a hungry beast, leveled toward the small soldier with fury.

A menacing step forward was taken, as Mikael cowered back instinctively, bringing his hands up in a plea for mercy. "P-please, Sire! I-it was only my discovery, I had nothing to do with—" Words hitched in a strangled gasp as the disguised Gerudo launched his hand forward, latching onto the soldier's throat with all the strength of constricted, corded steel.

"Tell me, Mikael… Do you remember Shiro Viscen?" He seethed, a deadly calm overcoming him as the wild fury was restrained to reside behind his irises. "He died trying to protect others… Throat slit clean, an example, as was Talleday before him…" Crimson eyes narrowed dangerously. "Do you know… what each has in common?"

Choking against the grip, Mikael struggled with wide eyes, hands uselessly wrapped about the Gerudo's wrist as his head shook nervously. "L-Link?" He rasped pathetically, reeking of fear.

"Very good, Mikael. They met their ends purely because a Rancher managed to wriggle his way into situations he shouldn't…" he growled, tightening his crushing hold. "Just like now… Perhaps you're a bit of a glory chaser, freeing the traitor so that you can tell me of it. Hopes of promotion? Going out in some sympathy?" Ganondorf's features contorted into an innately evil expression then, drawing a choked whimper. "…Or an innocent bystander, as always, useless as you are... Prove to me that you're not a traitor, Mikael, and you will live."

Roughly shunted, Mikael was thrown to the floor, the metal of his uniform scraping across stone with horrid screeching and an awful clang as his trembling form was racked with pain. Crying out with a wince, he barely had time to open his eyes before the Shiekah's boot came down solidly atop his chest, driving the little breath from him and pinning him there.

Coughing, the soldier almost lost himself completely as the threat of death was made, his cowardly heart snapping under the pressure. "N-no! Please! No! I had nothing to d-do with it, b-but…! But!" He cried, holding hands up to stay the King's hand. "There is an old sewer way r-running out of the castle from those tunnels… I-it was used an escape route in the great Fire before the Princess was born! He must've gotten help through there to come and g-get him!"

Ganondorf hummed thoughtfully, peering down at the pitiful man and taking fingers to scratch at his chin. "An escape route, you say?" He pondered aloud, slowly removing his boot from the soldier's chest to turn and pace before the windows. Frowning as the man coughed and spluttered behind, struggling to sit up again, the Gerudo sent him a harsh glance.

"Where does it lead?" He ordered, biting out the question harshly.

"An old a-armory… Now… T-Telma's B-bar…" Came the quivering reply as Mikael rolled over upon all fours, shaking with trauma and no longer brave enough to look up.

"I see." The Gerudo mused, unimpressed—yes, Link had made some friends during the tourney, hadn't he? _Well, now I know where his allies are likely to pop up, but measures must be taken…_ he turned again toward the writing desk, stalking over and scratching out a quick message, ripping the paper from the table and tossing it negligently toward the quivering man on the floor, smirking as it floated down toward him.

"That's an arrest warrant for the proprietor of this bar… I expect her to be here for questioning within the hour. Do not delay, and take two men with you at least." He hissed, a plan forming as the weak willed soldier scrambled to retrieve it, standing with a clear intent to run again. "Oh, and Mikael…" He called, the smirk growing into a malicious grin.

"…Fetch me Badon Valenzuela, as well."

Mikael shook, clutching the parchment with twitching hands, as he nodded with pale features still distorted by fear. "Y-yes, Sire… Of c-course…" He uttered quietly, turning on his heels to make a swift and clumsy exit, desperate to get as far away from the King as possible.

Ganondorf chuckled darkly to himself, watching him leave as crimson eyes turned back to the windows, fingers tenting with anticipation. "Let's nip this 'Hero' in the bud once and for all…"

Meanwhile, far down below, creeping stealthily through the back alleys, laden with supplies, Link and Ashei were as silent as the stray cats as they sized up the southern gate. The boy had been disguised, and quite comically, was pulling it off rather well, much to his chagrin. They stood behind the corner of a house, eyeing the guards on duty about the large gate, wondering if they would make it through so easily or without questioning.

Ashei was dressed as she usually was, with a dark traveler's cloak draped about her shoulders, and a large bundle of food and weaponry strapped to her back. She knew she'd have no trouble getting past; many of the warriors from the tourney had left with similar carry packs, filled with souvenirs… Link, though, was entirely another matter, and if he wasn't already nervous enough, he certainly was jittery now.

Beside her, fumbling with the odd attire, the young man was now a young woman. Telma had been so kind as to dress him in clothes she no longer wore, things from her youth when she was—not that she'd admit it—much slimmer. A tailored leather coat was wrapped tightly about his torso, the belt of it pulled to give false curve, under which sat a rather summery frock, which barely covered his knees. Stockings had been pulled on with some struggle to conceal any hair on his legs, and old leather boots, low heeled, distracted some from the size of his feet and gave him a dainty, if not entirely clumsy, walk that demanded his full attention to maintain. Spherical bottles, each filled with a red liquid, sat within the brassier beneath the dress, concealed by a virginal neckline, to give him a convincingly ample bust; as well as being useful for later.

And if all that weren't enough, Telma and Ashei had seen fit to all but entirely crush his lungs and ribs in a corset that was pulled far tighter than usual to forcibly mold his frame. Link swore he still had the imprint of Ashei's boot upon his spine from the ordeal, and could not bend for his troubles… not the least of which was breathing. It irritated the bandaged whip lines on tender flesh beneath as well… he knew it was temporary, but even so, it was painful. The discomfort was bearable compared to another stark fact that bothered Link—he had little hopes of fighting effectively if this backfired.

His face, pulled into a rather uncomfortable frown, was probably his least favorite thing, despite the horrors of the corset or even the heeled shoes. Blue eye shadow, glittery, sat powdered above kohl-lined eyes, a slathering of ruby red lipstick, and a few pats of blush to—as Telma so quaintly put it—highlight his high cheekbones. Upon application, Link found himself quite irritated, and bleary-eyed, he wondered just how exactly a woman put their eyes through such torture on a daily basis. All of this coupled with a blonde wig bought only yesterday, which fell in limp curls from under a lace bonnet, made the once handsome Link now quite a pretty young 'Linette'.

And he hated it, but unfortunately, this was the only thing any of them could think of on short notice that may get him out of the castle town gates without being recognized. So the Wolf was dressed as a lamb.

Within the alley's shadow, dark eyes turned to him with a stern look, and the warrior would set a firm hand to his shoulder, steadying. "Alright… We got one shot at this, yeah? Leave any talking to me, keep your head down, and we'll be out of here in no time." Ashei offered quietly, looking him over once more. "And remember, you're a bird, so act like a bird."

Link's somewhat sulky expression grew into an annoyed and self pitying one, steely eyes flashing toward her with a grimace. "Stop calling me a bird! I'm _pretending_ to be a woman, not making a habit of it!" He grumbled defensively, glaring down at the cobblestone some. After a moment, he muttered, pulling down the hem of the dress self consciously. "…You have my pants in that bag, right?"

Ashei stared at him rather flatly, not actually able to recall whether she had packed his normal clothes or not in the haste—she thought he'd have seen to that? They weren't in his bag? …Maybe they were in her pack… Either way, she covered it with a frown. "Course I have, you finicky bastard. Now, shut up and act pretty." And she'd give a firm smack to his behind.

With a jolt and a small yelp of protest, Link felt himself ushered into the street by her, almost immediately tripping in the shoes. He stumbled and caught himself on a nearby stall post, hanging on to it, and looked up to see the merchant peering at him oddly, an apple in hand and an eyebrow raised. The disguised rancher would wince, back flaring up with pain, sheepishly forcing himself to stand, and then remembered he was currently a girl. So, righting himself, he would brush off the skirt of the dress, feeling the awkward blush creep over his cheeks, and say in a strangely pitched high voice, "Erm… S-sorry… about that… sir…" Another wince occurred, inwardly, at the sound of it. Gods, this was the worst idea he'd ever been a part of.

Wayward wisps of blonde had caught about his face in the stumble, distracting and irritating, and Link took fingers to it, trying to push it aside and blow it from his lips, but to little avail. _Damn it! _He shook his head some to rid himself of it, and the stout merchant—to Link's horror—reached a hairy hand forth to aid him, tucking the wig's fake locks behind the boy's pointed air. The rancher froze, watching nervously as the man gave him a thickly moustached smile; now was the test, if the man recognized Link, he was done for.

"T'ain't no worries, love…" The merchant offered, giving a wink. "Pretty little thing like you ought'ta be more careful. Wouldn't want you taking a tip and scuffing those nice boots, would we?" He chuckled, and held out the apple. "Here. On me."

Ashei, behind the corner, had wanted to step forward, but seeing this unfold, was now struggling with a mouth clamped securely over her mouth not to laugh. It was a serious matter, and for a moment she'd been in a suspended state of slight panic for such direct attention to Link… but this was all the proof anybody needed to know the disguise was effective. And entertaining proof at that.

Link stared at the apple a moment, as if the thing was poisoned, and swallowed some, forcing a smile as his crushed toes curled further in his boots—_dear Gods, why me…_

"Th-Thank you…" He squeaked, gingerly taking it from the man's large hand and withdrawing his own quickly to grasp the fruit close to his chest, in effect drawing away from him immediately. He gave a nod, and with another awkward step forward, the Rancher concentrated on his pacing to set off toward the gate slowly. He could almost _feel _the merchant's appreciative gaze upon him, and it sent a shiver of revulsion down his spine.

Quick steps brought Ashei beside him once more, once she'd regained control of her smirking, and clearing her throat a little, she'd give the boy a sympathetic look. "Well, we know its convincing enough…" She said, trying to ease Link's obvious discomfort. She received a scowl as the boy said nothing, a guard stepping forward to receive them as they came about the high arching gate, large wooden doors shut for the moment.

The shifting of metal greaves upon the stone drew the Rancher's attention, and he let the look fade, setting his face as neutral as possible so as not to highlight any masculine feature unnecessarily. Realistically, Link's features were still somewhat boyish, but dressed as he was, he'd allowed himself a small delusion as to the fact that if not for this disguise, he was undoubtedly male in every facet. A pinnacle of masculinity, with a good strong jaw and a bulge to his biceps, broad shouldered and certainly not androgynous in the slightest. This was perhaps the only thing that allowed such an outfit to grace his form, these false thoughts of his true appearance, and though a small part of him knew they were embellished and that normally he didn't pay a second thought to such things, at present moment he'd give an arm to uphold them as truth.

And as such, ironically, Link's first scan of the guard was actually not one of whether he was recognized as himself, but rather whether the man thought him attractive like the merchant—his keen senses for body language and gazes told him, thankfully, the soldier did not… or at least, wasn't acting on it. A tiny sigh of relief came, and Link felt his tension slide some, before his mind sharply reminded him that this did not necessarily bode well. If the Guard showed attraction, it was a sign of his passing… that the man did not meant there may be doubt or recognition. He was very nearly frowning again, and when the strong voice addressed them his teeth clamped about his tongue nervously and to prevent protest.

"Ladies." The man said with a nod, coming to halt them and bringing up a hand in order of it. "The Western gate is closed until noon with the exception of trade. You know this, so if you're thinking of leaving… I'm afraid I'm going to have to turn you around. South or East gates take civilian details, names, occupations, and they'll process your travel visas."

The guard was tall, a head higher than either of the warriors, and looked to be older as well. Link studied him silently, disregarding what he'd said, and decided very quickly this was going south fast—To head through the other gates meant providing papers and checks the Rancher couldn't give, almost certainly leading to exposure. They knew they'd face difficulty headed out this way, but it was their only option. To wait until noon also posed far too many risks of being recognized as more people and soldiers took up daily routine. But the boy could guess this Guard had held his job for quite a while, and was experienced; the chance of him ignoring protocol for their convenience seemed a slim one at best.

However, this did not seem to phase Ashei in the slightest, her arms folding over her chest and an agitated tick taking her mouth. The warrior narrowed dark eyes as blunt features drew slowly into a frown. "…Listen. You know who I am; you don't need proof of it. You've seen me, as has everybody else, fighting in the tourney. Ashei Delmoran." She bit out with an acidic tone. "I live out at Snowpeak, and I'm not going to be put out a day or two by going out the long way, yeah? If I left at noon, it'd be night before I got halfway there, and a night up in the snow caps isn't great for traveling in."

The Guard cocked an eyebrow at her, the displeasure clearly displayed upon his weathered face—it seemed he didn't care for her attitude at all. She was correct, he did indeed know her, but that didn't give her any right to throw her weight around with him. He gestured some with his spear, leaning it to one side as he peered at her sharply. "Well then, Ashei Delmoran, if you are so self important, perhaps a night would do you good to travel in." He spat back cynically. "What with you being such a highly respected tourney entrant, I'm sure you'd come across many a bandit to heroically stop."

Ashei growled, sneering at him as gloved fingers dug into her sleeves, dark eyes flashing dangerously. "You don't let us through in the next minute, bloke, and I'm going to heroically punch you in the gut! Move!"

Link flinched as the Warrior started to argue, and against better judgment, opened his mouth to speak in the high pitch, brows furrowed and with a softer approach. "We're sorry to burden you, sir, but you would really be helping us out if you'd let us through now…" He paused some, steely eyes watching the other man's face for any hint of him noticing the fake feminine voice—it seemed he wasn't that good an actor, because no sooner had he said it, the Guard's full attention was upon him with an incredulous look. Link swallowed nervously, pocketing his hands to hide any twitching. "I… you see, I'm sick… And there is said to be a good medicinal soup brewed for my illness by the locals of Snowpeak." He added in a slight cough, hoping this would also explain his odd sounding voice. "Ashei has kindly agreed to escort me there safely on her return home… Please, I'll be returning within the week, it could stay between us…" He lied, forcing himself not to blink so that his eyes may gloss over some.

It seemed to work far better than Ashei's approach at any rate, the visible softening of the Guard's face hinting that he may be swayed. The man looked Link over, musing quietly. "…You are rather skinny for a young lady… You look like you've been held in a dungeon without food for a week…"

Though it was coincidental, and clearly the man was thinking it over, weighing whether he could afford exception, the pair flinched at the words he used. Ashei tensed, a nervous tell appearing in the form of her hand rising to hold a lock of ebony hair, tugging at it. The two exchanged a brief glance, silent for a moment, before Ashei stuttered back into it. "Y-yeah, well, there you go. She needs to be treated and this way is quickest…"

Link could feel his wounds burning with the memory, his back straight with discomfort, and though only seconds passed, he felt an eternity over the time it took for the guard to decide.

"Snowpeak is dangerous nonetheless, and the cold of the journey may only aggravate her condition." The guard said finally, his annoyance giving way to concern. "It is best to stay here and seek medical attention from Doctor Burville. He knows what he's doing, and I'm sure he has a better remedy up his sleeve than soup." He adjusted his hold on the spear, nodding to Link with a slight frown. "It's a long journey, too. I'm sorry, miss, but I can't in good conscience allow the risks, besides the rules."

Link's fingers curled and flexed in the pocket, tugging them downward, teeth gritting—Would the other guards put it together? Did anybody even know he was missing yet? How could he get through other gates without papers? How could he stay here without being revealed in time? The boy's mind ran wild with possibilities, and overcome in a moment of alarm, he took to a satchel at his hip. From it was drawn a red rupee, held up and almost shoved into the man's hand as the boy held it trembling.

"Please…" He repeated, his tone becoming a little desperate—he knew by the surprise on the guard's face the man wasn't expecting a bribe, nor was used to seeing them, but he pressed on, forming a lie quickly. "I've a terrible fear of doctors, I can't explain why… but… I simply can't go to him, I just can't…. Pleases let us through, if I don't risk the journey, I may succumb to fever entirely…"

Ashei's brows rose with some surprise as well, looking Link over with a slightly impressed curve to her mouth—the lad could definitely think on his feet, she had to give him that. She turned a dark gaze to the guard again, fingers drumming expectantly upon her arm, a quizzical look put to him.

The man would, after a moment ofleaning back some in shock, slump some with a heavy sigh and reach up to the rupee. But any hope in them would be dashed, both their faces falling as the Guard pushed the money back and away, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, miss, but it's against the law for me to pass you through without processing your visas… especially on a bribe. I could lose my posting, if I allowed it under the new stricter security of the Regent, and I have a family to feed. By all means, come back at noon with the paperwork and I'll put you straight through but, for now… I can't."

Link stared at the rupee for a moment, seeing it refused, and at a loss of what to do, returned it to his satchel with some shame. He knew it would be unfair on the guard to ask something like this of him for only twenty rupees… He knew all to well the struggle of keeping work to a strict budget and making do. Even with everything that'd happened, he couldn't force it—Ashei had frowned and taken a step forward to protest, but Link held a tired hand up to block her from it, letting a silent sigh pass. She looked to him with confusion, but seeing the rancher's expression, knew to let it go. The warrior scoffed and grit her teeth with frustration, turning to walk away with a stomping gait, as Link forced a soft smile to the Guard, apologetic.

"…I understand… I'll… be on my way… Thanks…" He offered quietly, hardly holding the fake pitch anymore, deflated as he felt.

With a nod and an exchange between them, he parted ways with the gate and the precious gate to freedom to follow Ashei, the exhaustion of the previous days catching up with him and visible in the way he moved. What would he do now? They were at an impossible impasse… could they really forge the necessary documents? No, probably not convincingly. It was looking somewhat hopeless, and the pair would walk in silence back toward the merchant stalls, headed back for the bar in defeat.

It wasn't until Link bumped against Ashei, feet seemingly dragged across the cobblestone, that he glanced up, lazily wondering what had caused her to stop. She was tense, staring ahead to the square and fountain down the way, where a commotion was taking place. As the Rancher followed her gaze, frowning some with unease, the shock of what he saw was enough to make him twitch with the want to hide immediately; the jolt of it running through his body as his eyes grew wide. It took him a moment, as if trying to see if it was indeed the barmatron—the leather she wore, the apron, the fiery red dreadlocks tied high…

Indeed, it was her.

A small group of guards were escorting Telma, in shackles, toward the castle. She was going willingly, for the most part, though the men still handled her roughly, pulling her along and jostling her about, vice-like grips upon her stout arms and shoulders. Link could see her wince occasionally, cocking her head at one to chastise, and it was then her hazel eyes caught sight of the pair.

When Link's steeled gaze met hers over the distance, he knew she could tell they had failed. His muscles twitched with urgent want to move, to help and free her of them, the memories of the times he'd been handled by guards springing forth, coupled with what her arrest may mean. This was his fault. Handsome features drew into a scowl, fists clenched to be removed from pockets, and as if forgetting himself entirely he stepped to see to her. Ashei snapped back to him, her eyes damning his thoughts, and her hand caught his wrist with an almost vicious speed as she roughly pulled him back.

"Don't you dare make this for nothing…!" She hissed in a whisper, baring teeth as her grip tightened warningly. "They know you're gone, if you fuck this up now, I can't get both of you! You'll be killed and she'll be tried guilty to probably join you shortly after!"

Her eyes burned into him with intensity, and biting back anger, the disguised rancher took every ounce of willpower not to give chase to Telma, his breathing quickening. He was focused upon the barmatron, shaking his head to communicate with her from afar—he could tell already it mattered not what he did. Telma was about to ensure he had his chance to escape, and he could see her bracing for it, a nod given to him.

"…Telma… No…" He breathed, almost unable to watch, pulling as far as Ashei's reach would allow him as it seemed to unfold in slow motion.

Telma gazed at the two of them, her hazel eyes shimmering with a sadness and a determination, her usually jovial face set into a stoic and calm expression that she'd seemingly borrowed from Link. She could see him shaking his head, and it broke her heart that it had to be this way, knowing he carried enough guilt as it stood… But she could cause the distraction he needed to escape, and arrested as she was, what more could they do to her that was not likely to happen already? Seeing that boy's face, the look in his eyes at that moment, and remembering everything he'd gone through, she felt she had nothing to lose. It was better her than him. Her eyes closed a moment, as she stopped walking, sandaled feet slowing to a halt despite the prodding of her arresting soldiers.

_This is for you, Honey, _And with that, she'd wink at the pair from afar, knowing she may never see them again.

It was then that, with a rebellious yell, the kind and happy Telma would transform into something entirely different, an unusual scowl on her face as she brought her elbow sharply back to crunch into an unfortunate soldier's nose, breaking fragile cartilage and beginning the stirrings of a grand struggle.

The Soldier's head snapped back as he stumbled, another catching him from falling, and immediately, the other two moved to restrain her further. A kick to one's leg made him cry out in pain, and despite the last making a grab for her arm, Telma slipped loose of him and began a run toward Link and Ashei. She would barely look at them, instead running to catch the attention of others, heavy steps taken with surprising agility for her build. Merchants jumped out of her way as the soldiers gave chase, shouting after her.

Link strained himself not to run to her, to stay put and not call out her name. The apple in his pocketr became something of a scapegoat for his anger and stress, squeezed that the juice filled in under his nails. His muscles tense and body trembling, he felt helpless as this unfolded, Ashei tugging on his arm all the while as Telma and the soldiers came swooping past them. The boy was so close, he could've reached out and touched her; hearing her breath come in a pant as he was maneuvers to stand aside inconspicuously.

"Come on!" Ashei urged quickly, pulling Link to turn away. "Now's our chance, let's go! She's doing this for us!" The Warrior would turn, seeing the opportunity they were presented with. "Throw the apple…!"

Link blanched, whipping his head to her and then the gate guard. Without thinking, he cocked his arm back and loosed the abused fruit, sending it hurtling to smash against the stone walling beside the gate and spray juice and shreds. The two Sentries jumped, alerted, and quickly turned their attentions to the direction it came from. As the Guard who had refused them from the gate saw the chase, he would move in a rush toward Telma, yelling out and signaling the other follow him for an intercept. The barmatron had jumped a small barrel, knocking over a stand of fruit, casting apples across the cobblestone and causing shrieks of mayhem as she ran through the backs of market stalls and turned down the alley. She knew the alley was a dead end, but it would draw the authority out of sight from Link and Ashei; heavy echoes and clinking of metal passed the pair, soldiers frantically tearing around the corner after her.

Link felt himself forced back, dragged along and unable to keep much footing in the awkward footwear, toward the gate. He watched the guards run past them, and the soldiers disappearing into the alleyway, feeling his chest tighten. Telma didn't deserve to suffer as he did in a dungeon, the crushing oblivion of nothing in the pitch black and cold, air musty and haunted. His body moved of it's own accord, and though he hadn't realized, he was struggling against Ashei as she dragged him to the gate. She was cursing at him, but he didn't hear her, as if a bubble had encased him to make all sound distant and unimportant. All of his instincts told him to go after Telma, rather than use the opportunity gifted to him by her. He didn't want anybody else to suffer for his folly, especially not her—She had risked everything to make sure he was free, and still fought to see him escape.

But it was exactly that, not wanting to betray her efforts, which gave him pause as his outstretched arm was held there after Telma. His handsome features twisted with a pained defeat, steely eyes losing their shine and sharpness as Ashei gave him one final pull, a firm hand on his shoulder. Now was the time to go. A shriek had sounded to echo down the cobblestone way, the final warning from the barmatron, as she was no doubt tackled down, that they were out of time. Something snapped inside Link at the sound. It was the sound of sacrifice, the last hopes for a greater good to prevail, and it turned the boy around, wincing at his own action, to flee with Ashei through the unmanned gate.

Neither of them looked back.

**A/N: **

**Hello Possums. **

**It has been a while, and this chapter is a result of sleep deprivation over many days, with scattered parts added to it over time. I think it was, fairly, 300 word increments in spare moments, because I've been exceptionally distracted by other tasks.**

**But nonetheless, I am safe, sound, and though neglectful, this story is going to be completed. None of you need worry for that. I have it planned out and the only thing left is to simply put it down… But forgive me if it takes a while to do that.**

**I've got a few things going down to keep up with, including personal projects.**

**Still, because I've kept you for a long while, I am going to set aside some time over the next two days—days off—and work on the next chapter. So you should see it sooner than this one.**

**Onwards to glory.**


	19. Plans of the Witching Hour

**A/N: Be warned, graphic horrors await you... You'll know when you see it starting. **

Night had fallen quickly, a dark and moonless black gifted seemingly by the Gods themselves to conceal those who would wander through it with stealth. The scattered pin-prickings of stars upon the dark mantle of heaven were as a thousand tiny candles to guide the way, constellations showing trained eyes the pathways of a compass. It was a silent darkness; even the insects that crawled out amongst the shadows of the trees were quiet, singing little of the chirps and buzzing that may give their presence away to predators.

About the field, not far from the walls of Castle Town, the whistle of a Gerudo dagger slicing through the still calm sounded, an echoing 'thok' as it stuck fast into a tree, perfectly striking the painted target for a bullseye. Nothing less would serve to end the session; it was a rule now that each would continue until perfection, or near enough to, was achieved. A bandage wrapped hand lowered slowly, the self satisfied smirk forming behind the guise of white fabric, masking delicate features as a sharp gaze peered out from beneath blonde bangs, the rest of the tresses tucked beneath a white hood. Dressed in a now familiar attire, a second skin proudly worn in black and navy blue, the cotton front was loose to bear the Shiekan eye as it fell to cover strapped breasts.

The Princess let out a pleased sort of laugh, clapping her hands together gleefully—she was only getting better every day. Her accuracy was second to none, and no longer did she require her attendant to be present for each session of training. She knew well what to do, how to do it; Sheik had taught her to challenge herself, and she marveled at the results. Tomorrow, he'd be with her out here again, hewing the art of assassination into her mind as well, tailoring her already impressive skill into blows that would kill… strikes that allowed no mercy, only one required to finish things.

She adored this time as she was now—to the onlooker, nothing of resemblance to the Royal heiress could be found. All they might see is a fleeting shadow, a flash of silver, and if truly observant, the crimson eye she bore… beyond that, perhaps even a young man, mistakenly. She was a Shiekah when she wore this garb, not only in looks, but in mind. Freedom attained, if only fleetingly, from the demands of daily life. By day one way, by night another; the increasing duality of Zelda. When her knives hit their mark, demons within her mind were slain, and when she tended to her bruises and scrapes afterward, the wounds of her soul seemed to heal over as well.

So long as she trained harder each passing day, never relenting, it didn't matter what she faced—it would be beaten in time.

"Sheik is going to be so pleased with me…" She mused to herself, wandering forward to remove her small blade from the wood. "I might not have taken it seriously before… But now…" She snickered to herself, greedy for the pride her attendant—no, her fiancé—would show her over the next few weeks. She could already feel the changes taking place; her moves swifter, strikes more potent, just by that pledge to succeed alone. To become more… And she was more for it already.

The dagger was returned with a short flick of her bound wrist to its sheath, held at the small of her back, clicking into place even as Zelda broke into a spirited run. Her smile beamed behind the half mask of white, and it was bright enough—had it shown—to replace the absent moon in the sky as her speed took her ever closer to the walls. Soft soles pressed to stone, scaling quickly and with ease until the disguised Princess ran atop the roofs silently, jumping across what were now small gaps to her, and evading the prying eyes of even the most alert of sentries posted about castle gardens.

When again she found herself bounding along the parapets and dashing down across the stone eaves, Zelda was taken by a whimsy and adjusted her course slightly to run past the high arched windows of the King's study—a curiosity as to where she may find her lover seeking answer so she could see him sooner. Pointed toes crept softly, fingers digging into the cracks of stone brickwork until she found her stance precariously beside an opened window there, flush against the wall and balanced upon the ledge. Pointed ears twitched to the sound of male voices, and a small flutter took hold of her insides—Yes, Sheik was here… but he held company?

_At this late hour? Odd…_She mused internally, not terribly bothered by it, but rather curious—crystalline eyes would peer inward with a lean, spying her quarry and the one he entertained.

A man… a redhead, in fact; barrel-chested and tall, dressed in a fine tunic with some sort of shawl or empty knapsack about his broad shoulders. Pants bearing an odd pattern too, one she'd seen before… She could only see the back of him, but he seemed so familiar. Sheik stood leaning against the mahogany desk behind, arms folded and a sly look to him as he colluded with this man. They almost looked as if they were brokering some kind of deal. Opting to remain quiet, Zelda's curiosity caught her and she resolved to stay and eavesdrop, if only for a moment to see what the meeting was about.

Pressing herself close to cold stone, bandaged fingers splayed against it, she turned a pointed ear toward the window and listened carefully, breathing slow so as not to miss a word… a guilty half smile hidden away as she did so.

"We'd be in agreement, then." Came the smooth rich tone of the disguised Gerudo, as crimson eyes glinted toward the other, a subtle smirk curving his mouth. "I thought as much… The boy tries to kill you outright in the tourney, the fools see nothing of the intent, and then he had the audacity to pin assassination on you. It's only right that you should deliver him to justice by tracking him down."

The other gave a gesture as if he were agitated about the whole thing, and finally somebody saw his side of it, turning to the window in a pacing rant—Zelda ducked back when he turned her way, but there she knew why he was familiar; it was Badon.

"That bastard Wolf had it coming anyway… Trying to humiliate me like that…!" The redhead snarled, eyes flashing with hate. He cocked his head back to the Regent, grimacing. "I knew he was up to something. I could feel it." His fist rose, shaking, before he shook his head with a frustrated sigh. "He would've watched me hang for his crimes… Oh yeah… I'll find him alright. I'll find him if I have to burn down half the country and smoke the piss ant out."

Ganondorf smirked to himself, fingers rapping calmly upon his bicep. This Badon was just as hotheaded as ever, gullible and quick to task. He lacked the edge he needed to best Link fully in the arena, to be sure… But the Gerudo could fix that. Certain precautions taken, with Badon's fury backing the hunt for the Hero, would undoubtedly see Link struggling to survive at all, let alone come back for vengeance. One could only scurry about the borders as an outlaw for so long without the ruthless tact to take for themselves remorselessly, and the boy was not of such a heart. He'd sooner starve than steal, and Ganondorf knew the 'Wolf' would not lower himself to becoming that which he'd taken down all these years; a true criminal. No, it was not in the nature of the Hero, even when everything rode upon such behaviour—he was simply incapable of crossing certain lines by design.

And this Badon would drive him to the brink; smoking him out as he suggested, or forcing the boy to retreat early into a grave… but he knew Heroes didn't go easily. The weaker he was when found, the better, near to death and defenseless.

"By all rights, he is a scourge to be removed…" He chuckled cynically, nodding to the bounty hunter. "It goes without saying of course that Link has been… stripped of his captaincy. As his second—if you can be called such, given his intentions—the position now falls to you." A large hand rose to idly scratch his beard, a casual tone given as the Gerudo's gaze flicked to the window. He knew the Princess was listening—the hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end to her presence, and as such he'd choose his words carefully.

_Spying again, _he 'tsked' mentally, _Really, the girl does have far too much time on her hands._ Still, if she was watching him, it meant she was thinking of him; this was always a good thing. And it was refreshing to see her applying some of the skills he'd taught her outside of her lessons.

He continued, taking on a more serious expression as he kicked forward from the desk to step towards the bounty hunter, narrowing his eyes. "…And as my Captain, Valenzuela, I need to be assured you can do the job. The future we all face is a bleak one, with many hardships… Very few know, but old evils have already begun to stir, and I don't doubt that this assault upon the Royal family is a harbinger of it. Princess Zelda is a very precious individual, and cannot meet her destruction in these dark times ahead…" His tone was low, inclining his head to eye the man and let him take from it what he would.

Badon seemed to hesitate, shrinking slightly back as the Shiekah drew near with such a dark look in his blood red eyes. A slow nod came, his jaw shifting as his fists clenched shut at his sides. "…You mean to say…" He offered, unsure, "…That Link… Might be connected to that whole Evil bit?" Green eyes shifted about between them, taking in a distracted view of their boots. When he looked up again, there was a possessive rage in them. "He's not going anywhere near the Princess. Not while he's got a throat to cut, I can make damn sure of that. She's an angel his dirty eyes aren't even worthy to see… I'll bring them back as click clacks for her Highness when I catch him!"

Ganondorf cocked a brow, amused—he knew of the man's affections for Zelda… A pity they would be unrequited, though it made for good leverage over this simple minded brute. "…'When'… I like that." He chuckled darkly, turning away with an approving look. He took hands to be held behind his back, pacing casually around the desk and casting the window another brief glance. "Well, then, I have your first assignment, _Captain_."

The bounty hunter straightened, an eager flash in his eyes at the prospect of drawing some well earned blood. He stepped forward, boots heavy upon polished stone, and leant his hands upon the desk, nodding. "You name it and I'll be gone by dawn." He grinned, something psychotic about the smile. He simply couldn't wait to have his shot at that pretender—his new goal in life was, quite simply, 'skinning the Wolf'.

The disguised Gerudo took a moment to be seated in the plush and formal chair behind the station, reclining in it with a smug sort of air and letting his hands rest upon the arms contentedly, caging the ends with his fingers. "It is, perhaps, not quite what you'd be hopeful for… But it is a task of unquestionable importance, nonetheless. Tell me, Valenzuela, have you ever heard of the Legendary Blade they call the Master Sword?" An eerie smile cracked his lips to reveal canines.

Upon the ledge, Zelda's eyes widened some when the heard it. Her breath hitched a moment, fingers curling to dig nails into the wall, and she strained to peer around the stone, unnoticed.

_Master Sword? Surely, he doesn't think Badon could take up such a blade…?_ She shook her head lightly; no, that didn't make sense at all. The bounty hunter held a great many notches in his belt for felons captured and killed, but that by no means matched him to the Hero of Legend. Not in the least—the man was positively reprobate, barely able to hold his occupation within the reach of the law. He was skilled, to be sure, but his hand was unworthy of such a blade as that.

More attentive now than ever, Zelda would risk being seen as she strained closer, her heart beating with some confusion and a need to know what was being planned. She peered at the Shiekah through the glass, brushing aside blonde wisps from her eyes, incredulous.

Valenzuela, however, seemed just as confused as Zelda was, though not for the same reasons. His brows rose, head cocking back as if the Regent had clucked like a Cucco at him. "…Master Sword?" He echoed, blinking twice before looking upwards in thought—it was clear the gears in his head were turning. He'd certainly heard it before, somewhere, though he couldn't place how. The man would nod some, curious. "…Yeah, I think I might have…." He mused slowly. "Isn't that the holy sword from those fairytales of old?"

Ganondorf laughed at that, despite himself, and brought his hands up to interlace his fingers thoughtfully, leaning his chin upon his thumbs. "Fairytales, indeed." He chuckled, something wry about the way he said it making Badon lift a brow in question. The Gerudo would draw a slow breath, rehearsing the words in his mind before they left him.

"You see… That blade has long been heralded as the Bane of Evil. A powerful relic, to be sure, and very real… I myself have witnessed it, in the past." He paused, judging from the man's face whether he took that into accounting for how old he supposedly was. "It is, as such, a beacon of light to drive back the darkness, and an asset we can't afford to lose by any means. Currently, it resides in the Faron woods… But I intend to bring it here, where it is most needed. As yet, no Hero has come forth to claim it, and after much thought I've decided it is very likely such a person would come seeking out Zelda, for the connection shared to her." Another glance to the window—He could feel her want to question him, and he answered his ward as much as he instructed Badon.

"…And so, we will move it to the Castle, instead, within our protection and readily available when the time comes… If a Hero appears, of course, is another matter entirely…" He schooled his worn features into a look of concern, for aesthetics sake, and then shook his head as if dismissing the thought. "…but I have long held great faith in such things to happen as they need to, and I am sure we will prevail regardless."

Zelda simply couldn't help herself then, swinging her body around to stand within the frame of the open window, hands gripping the sides harshly with concern, only the furrow of her brows over crystalline eyes visible. "Sheik! How can you be so flippant about a task like that?" She cried, drawing the shocked attention of Badon who very nearly jumped at the sight of her. With a sigh, she shook her head, letting herself fall inwards to land gracefully and approach them.

Tugging her mask down and revealing her face, she sent a pointed look, like that of a chastising mother, to her fiancé. "You know just as well as I do, the Master Sword can't be drawn by anyone other than its chosen wielder." A hand settled on her hip as she cocked her head, seemingly ignoring Badon for the moment. "How exactly do you suppose _he's_ going to manage that? Not to mention the fact that he'd have to find it first, in the vast woods no less, and then get it back here!"

The supposed Shiekah glanced at her, making it obvious in the way he did it that he'd known of her being there all along, crimson eyes betraying nothing of concern for what she said. "Zelda, I hardly think those little problems are going to hinder us. I'll send plenty of men and scouts with our new Captain to see it done, and I have faith that he'll return successful." He smirked some, a faint thing, and casually gestured to the bounty hunter. "After all, if he can brave the deserts of the West, surely that hints to his resourcefulness… or at the very least, thick skin."

Badon was staring at Zelda by this point, take aback that not only had somebody appeared through the window, but it also happened to be her, of all people. Never had he imagined he'd see the Princess in Shiekan garb… Hell, he hadn't recognized her at all until her face was shown, and even then he wasn't sure until the Regent had addressed her. But now, caught by those prefect features he'd obsessed over, he couldn't help but fall into the smooth tones he took with women, laying it on thick as he crossed arms over his chest and gave a cocky smile.

"Your Highness, not to brag, but I'm the best in the country and I'm at your service." He chuckled, leaning toward her slightly. "The thing's in a pedestal right? I'll just dig it up and bring it home, dirt and all." He winked, tapping the side of his brow. "Just have to use your brain a bit, but hey, that's what you've got men like me for. I'd do anything for you, Princess, and if you need that sword, it's as good as yours."

Ganondorf watched as Zelda rolled her eyes, her irritation clearly forming on her face as she drew breath to harshly spite Badon, and intervened before she could spoil her own charms upon the idiot. "Zelda, it's the best option we have, to be defensible, at present. Valenzuela is pledging his unyielding services to you, don't deny him the chance to _prove_ his _worth._" He'd eye her with a knowing glance, one that she caught the meaning behind and settled for, nodding lightly.

In truth, neither the Princess nor the Gerudo felt any real attachment to Badon; he was disposable and easily swayed—not the brightest dog to play fetch with, especially for something so crucial as the Master Sword, but damned if he wasn't the most loyal to the task. And, though it may pain Zelda to admit, his idea did hold merit. To simply unearth the pedestal and sword in their entirety may certainly be possible. For now it was simply a game of playing up that loyalty in him, whipping up his outrage for recent happenings and sending him out in force. They needed a captain, and Badon was capable of filling that post effectively… and with his brazen attitude and sense of self worth, he may well instill a high sense of enthusiasm and morale in the other soldiers.

Provided he was useful, and successful in what they put him to, both supposed they could let the idiocies he spewed and his misogyny slide.

For the moment, all Ganondorf cared about was ensuring the boy didn't lay a finger upon that blade. He knew the only way to ensure that was to have the Master Sword under his surveillance at all times, and kept in a place where the Hero couldn't get to it—with Link now the most wanted man in all of Hyrule, what better place to keep it tucked away than here, in the heart of the Castle, behind enemy lines? He'd be a fool to attempt it, caught and put to death before he even came close to finding it within these walls. With the Gerudo's heightened security measures taking place and constantly improved upon, sharpened like a knife, it was only a matter of time before this castle became as impenetrable as his own fortress once was. No, even more so—The Hero of Time had even infiltrated that, and he would not underestimate this incarnation again.

Not only that, but TwinRova had revealed to him, in educating him of his true origins, another potential avenue to Power locked away in that accursed blade. It would take some doing, and likely, a good amount of studying the magics of it, but if there was in that sword any remnant of Demise; any sliver of him, an echo or an imprint, he'd resolved to find it and add it to his repertoire. Such demonic magics, in the absence of his full Power, could prove crucial for tipping the scale indefinitely and establishing his hold upon Hyrule, beyond the Crown, the Hero, or anything else, until he could relieve Zelda of Wisdom, regain Power, and then seek out Link for Courage.

And by that time, if he didn't already have the boy back in chains, he'd be weakened by his life as an outlaw and without defense; easy pickings and certainly, no longer posing any threat at all.

He would hold nothing back now to prevent Link from gaining foothold against him, separating him from all that made him a Hero, to the best of his ability without sacrificing his chance at gaining Courage.

But Zelda had a pressing query of her own to make now, crystalline eyes narrowed and bandaged fingers fidgeting in front of her midsection. Something about this just didn't click to her, and she had to find out what. "Be that as it may, it is late and I think we should discuss it further in the morning." She offered tersely, glancing to Badon and shooing him with a negligent hand, cold. "Forgive me, but I'm cutting this meeting short. If you have guest quarters here, return to them. Sheik will give you orders tomorrow, and you can set out then, for whatever good it will do."

Ganondorf frowned some at her controlling tone, but as he'd said all he needed to, he supposed there was no harm in humoring the girl. _It isn't like her to object so openly as this…She is even in her guise, the other night she seemed offended by my even implying her training to others…_ Perhaps she was simply jealous for his attentions.

Then again, he was dabbling rather closely into matters he knew she held close at heart—moving the Master Sword itself to the castle was a tentative request for her at best, and likely, she felt some sort of blasphemy about it... No matter. Her opinions of it wouldn't sway him in the slightest, and he was confident he could settle her easily if that was what irked her so.

It did pester him that she'd come about to spy and then interrupt, pushing back his intentions for the Bounty Hunter… The edge he lacked… But he would wait, as Zelda suggested, for the morning—it was best she not be made aware of his true promotion for Badon. A captain he was now, and that she could know, certainly… But the fact that he'd be unlike any before him was not something to make the Princess privy to. The Gerudo would make sure, however, that his ward's concerns were put to rest over the man's capability… He needed Valenzuela's skill, and less of his idiocy.

Something very achievable, and successful in application—Nabooru could attest to that.

Crimson eyes would turn then to the object of his thoughts, a nod given and a dismissive wave of his hand to second Zelda's demand. "Yes, it is getting on. I'll brief you officially at dawn. Rest well, and make sure you're prepared… it is a taxing journey."

The redheaded bounty hunter met his gaze briefly, still quite taken by such a close view of the beautiful—if currently exotic—Princess, and after a tense moment of his mind arguing with itself to say something or ask questions, he decided against it. A quick bow was given, not nearly as formal as was appropriate, and it was obvious that it came from a combination of Valenzuela's lack of experience with the upperclass as well as some self-entitlement. "At dawn then." He offered bluntly, grinning a charming smile to Zelda as he turned to leave. "Goodnight, Your Highness."

The Princess didn't even grace him with a glance, evading his gaze and her body language speaking of rejection as she simply peered at her fingers, picking at the bandages. "Goodnight, Valenzuela." She said quickly, her tone final, and then she would stare at her fiancé, waiting for the sound of the door behind him.

As the resounding click of the latch resounded, signaling the pair were now alone, a brief moment of tense calm followed; a clashing of unspoken things between them at that point as crimson eyes locked with blue. Zelda's delicate features betrayed nothing but a faint disapproval, evident only by the slight crease of her brow and the straight line of icy pink lips. The light tap of the toe of her boot could be heard faintly tapping upon the floor, a tic bearing her ire of something, or anxiety.

Ganondorf was much the same, peering back at the girl from behind his hands, a slight nip given to the edge of his forefinger in thought. A twitch ran through his broad shoulders, visible as always through the second skin he wore, and with it he would break the silence.

"…Alright, Zelda, you have my undivided attention." He offered in what could be taken as a tired drawl, eyes narrowing. "You may as well speak your piece. I can hear you biting your tongue from here."

He received, much as expected, a rather chastising look and a hitched brow along with the slight frown of her mouth. "The Master Sword? Really?" She hissed quietly, her hands coming to settle on her hips imposingly. "You're up to something. And on another level, how dare you even think to do something like this! You know better!" Her hand waved to him briefly in a damning motion. "That's sacrilege, uprooting an artifact like that! I would've hoped you, of all people, might have a bit more respect for the past, at the very least!"

Still leaning his chin upon thumbs, Ganondorf let his fingers rise to rub the bridge of his nose in exasperation, sighing heavily. _Figures she'd protest…I don't know why I expected differently—_But then, perhaps it was better to get this out now.

"Zelda, I am well aware of the fact it is, for lack of better terms, defiling sacred ground… Especially with a man like Valenzuela leading the party; Gods know the fool hasn't the faintest clue as to the importance of his future cargo… but I'll be sure to make it clear to him before he leaves." His hands fell away, and leaning forward he'd fold arms on the desk top, peering at her sternly. "But your father has just been murdered, and given time is racing toward us to act and prepare, now is the time to be calling for drastic measures. You simply can't be sure of anything at this point; I'm only trying to weigh odds in our favor should anything else go wrong."

It wasn't quite a lie, he reasoned—true enough, he was taking measures to obtain their future security… There was no telling what the boy was capable of now that he'd escaped and, at the very least, knew that 'Sheik' was not quite the person he claimed to be. The Gerudo was confident Link was still clueless as to him being the Evil King of old, but the simple fact was that didn't truly matter at this point in the game. Link would be out for blood and to set the wrongs right—the rancher's personal vengeance aside, taking down the King's killer, who now sat threateningly upon the throne, would be one of those high on the list of Heroic things to do.

The Princess had to bite the inside of her cheek, reigning in any vicious remarks she could give in her outrage—the very notion flew in the face of everything she'd been raised to respect and hold precious… Sheik himself had stressed to her the importance of history and its passages over the years, not the least of which happened within the last forty eight hours. The pink hue tainting her cheeks as her body tensed was a testament to her frustration with the man now seeming to double back on it.

Her hands had shifted to her sides now, flexing some as she willed them not to become fists. "And what, I suppose you were just going to go ahead with this bright idea and I'd be alerted to it when I awoke one morning to a holy weapon in my room?" She spat sarcastically, rolling her eyes some. She'd step forward, swift and fluid still from her training session, and level a sharp gaze upon him as bandaged hands settled upon the wood.

She seemed to calm some as she stared at him, watching his own anger flash behind his crimson eyes, and cutting him off from speaking. Her delicate face was like marble stone, stoic and cold when she spoke again. "…He's gone, isn't he?" She insisted, every fiber of her being demanding he answer her, pointed ears twitching beneath the hood.

The Gerudo had to restrain himself greatly for the attitude she held with him. Thinking back a few nights, he recalled her similar misbehaviour in the gardens, and right about now—with her pretty face in striking distance—he felt the urge to repeat the lesson. Biceps twitched and tensed with the want of it, and he found himself rising to tower over her, copying her stance as he leaned over the desk, snarling.

"Yes, Zelda, the boy is gone." He growled, bearing his teeth. "So unless you want your Father's killer out gallivanting around the country, unpunished and likely gathering some rebel group with the intent to return here, burn the castle to the ground and slit your fragile throat, I suggest you let me do my job…" He leaned closer, that blaze of exotic gold flashing dangerously through his eyes in a fearsome scowl, "…And take _necessary_ precautions."

It was a dangerous thing, the unflinching Princess before him. Yes, over the years she'd gotten used to his temper… even built one of her own to match it on occasion, and of course, she was well acclimatized to enduring his most malicious looks and words. But now, after so long under the heels of others, Zelda's backbone was stripped bare and showing. She didn't even blink at the man she intended to marry as he talked to her in such a way, taking it in as she'd done a thousand times before, and even in his frustration and stress, the Gerudo had to acknowledge that. He was as proud of her, for the strength he'd instilled, as he was fearful of what she could do should she ever turn on him.

…Should the Goddess in her override, as it had threatened to before, everything he'd set into place.

"How did he escape?" Her voice stabbed into him like a knife, shrill and full of unplaced blame as her eyes burned with the want to know, looking him over as if he were a filthy sinner.

Through a clenched jaw, the Gerudo's narrow eyes never leaving her, he offered a strained reply, seething. "The sewer ways beneath the castle _apparently_ connect to the dungeons. An escape route that seems to have been _forgotten_ by the idiots who built it, and then saw fit to place the bastard down there. I've got the owner of the damned bar it _leads to_ in custody, and being interrogated." He bit out, blunt fingernails digging into the wood beneath.

"A bar? He took the old armory route?" She nearly stuttered, gaping. "Who the hell put him down there, of all places?" She shrieked, waving her hands in disbelief.

"**I **_**don't know**_**, Zelda!"** He yelled, the muscles in his neck bulging as his booming voice quickly filled the room, seeming to rattle the very window panes with the sheer force of it as his fist came to pound against the desk, sending a shocked network of cracks through the polished mahogany—mostly superficial, as he was careful of betraying his full strength, but certainly no easy feat.

Only then did the Princess flinch, the sound of his hand impacting upon the tough wood a rough thing to her ears, and unexpected, as she decided to bite her tongue and let the matter be. There was no helping it now, and getting angry at one another for something neither had any control over was fruitless. If Link was gone, then there was little point of baying at each others throats trying to discern how exactly it occurred—the focus now was what to do about it.

There was, in the Princess, a small part of her that feared the fact her father's killer roamed free, with nobody able to give possible whereabouts. He might be anywhere, and there was no telling what his desperation might throw him into—Link could very well appear within castle walls during the night and, as Sheik had said, try to end her. But the overwhelming majority of her being was simply outraged that he would evade paying the price for her father's blood on his hands, even if only for a time. If she ever saw him again, he would likely be the test to her new training; no longer an opponent to fight, but a target to kill.

With him gone, her satisfaction for seeing him meet an end had also been stolen away, running off with the traitor into the night, with sympathizing allies, no doubt—it was chilling to Zelda, realizing she held true enemies; people she'd never met who hated her family and all that they were assumed to be. But her keen mind told her, even with the convenient route through which to abscond, Link would not have escaped his chains alone, nor made it through the bar and out of the city unnoticed without aid.

She rigidly offered, in a much more subdued tone, "…The soldiers who placed him there must be questioned as well. Any guard here to come into his proximity is now a suspect."

Ganondorf tried very hard to unhinge his jaw from feeling wired shut, as it did at this moment, tiny twitches about his face betraying the flickering blaze of rage beneath the skin. "I have already put into place measures to see our soldiers meet with the strictest conditions to employment, henceforth, and the ones who dealt with the boy have already been taken in." He growled out forcibly, a murderous quiet to him.

A good minute passed between the Royals, locked into a silent battle of wills it seemed, as the lover's spat turned rather serious. Crystalline eyes finally softened, a sadness in them, but Zelda would simply shake her head to speak gently with him.

"Sheik, I understand how many burdens you've taken on since my Father's death… You've been placed under a lot of pressure, and I know I've been selfish in this time, focused upon my own worries. I've not given much thought to how you would fare in all this, and I suppose..." She held her breath some, thinking of the words as they toyed upon her tongue. "…I suppose I never thought something could overcome you. You've always been so strong for me, that now… it's hard to remember you aren't invincible. You're capable, sure, but you're still a man of flesh and blood." She scoffed a cynical laugh, closing her eyes as the faint smile lingered upon her lips.

"…Neither of us are immortal or invincible, despite my being a Goddess Reincarnate or Princess or what have you, or you being a Shiekah with your past and questionable resume..." A light wince overcame her as she said that, as if it pained her to voice those words. "But I could never watch you die, I simply can't… not after both parents, Talleday or his men… Even the Rancher who killed him. So many have fallen… and even though death is, by Shiekan right, in our veins and a part of our natures… It terrifies me to think how fragile we truly are."

She'd open her eyes again to look upon him with something quietly intimate in them; a personal wisdom she need not take from divinity. "…And I know, deep down, it terrifies you as well, and I'm sorry… for not realizing your struggles as well as mine. I shouldn't be so harsh about this with you; I know you did what you could and none of us saw this coming."

If only he knew how to keep hold of his rage when his Zelda gave him that look… Perhaps it was a weakness of his, forged from letting the girl weasel her way into his affections, as well as his plans, but when she spoke the inner truth of things aided by her natural wisdom, even his silver tongue couldn't lie through it. Ganondorf could see her ancestor in her in moments like these, and it hurt him as much as it did soothe; a subtle war of his old hatred, and new attachment.

It unnerved him some to know that the girl did hold power over him, even if it didn't hinder his plans—she knew him far too well now for the Gerudo to escape her emotionally unscathed when it came to it. She knew what nerves to strike, what tiny slivers of humanity in him were strongest, despite his facades, and the Princess held a penchant for grasping them in her slender fingers and twisting until the traits she favored overshadowed the beast within… and it was his fault, he knew, for allowing her the means, but it was simply unavoidable if he was to succeed. He was still very much in control, but since the King's death—since bringing her to the next level—he'd also freed her of the bindings which had seen her subdued previously, and Ganondorf was being made painfully aware that she'd ceased being a pawn of his and started to equal him as an ally; An asset; An extension of himself.

The Gerudo found himself faltering slightly, the dominance he'd pressed with her moments ago slowly dying within him to be replaced by an ache of knowing there was a tiny part of her he could never change, even when she was fully eclipsed by his designs.

A part he realized, now, he didn't want to, for it sustained them both when they did truly fear the horizon of fate upon the world they'd created for themselves.

A twitch of silver brows was the first movement upon worn features, before his scowl began to fade. His bulking muscles, coiled to strike her, settled into a relaxed state once more; his rigid tension dissolving under the effects of her soft, crystalline eyes as his fingers drummed upon the mahogany desk as if to unconsciously soothe it from the abuse.

"…I won't rest…" He offered quietly, his voice lacking the distinctive rumble to take on an almost small, though firm, tone; as if his life depended upon the words. "…Until that boy is dead, and you and I stand alone as the King and Queen."

Zelda peered at him, shifting her weight slightly from one foot to the other. She would've been charmed by those words, in her odd way, usually. Somewhere in her, she was; the swell of affection for them man increasing in this, what she thought was, proclamation of his own love and need to be with her. But her smile to it was fleeting and faint, in the mindset that she was, sharply picking up on something strange—in his gaze was something truly honest, yes, and there was no doubting his claim… but where then was his concern for the King of Evil? The true threat to their future?

"Sheik…" She asked, hesitant and glancing away in a momentary uncertainty, breath stilled for the moment. "…Why is Link so important to you… that his escape alone could tip you on such a warpath… that you'd take such measures as bringing the Master Sword here?" Crystalline eyes would flick up towards him, staring at him, questioning and full of a frightened confusion that wouldn't show in anything but her irises.

The silence in the room became deafening, ringing in their ears as the pair simply stared—for the first time in years, there was for that moment a true divide; A cracking that if not met with the right answer, threatened to tear a great chasm of mistrust between them.

Ganondorf's heart plummeted as he considered a myriad of things, feeling the sweat upon the nape of his neck as Zelda pierced him with that unwavering gaze. Her body, though it hadn't moved, almost felt as if it were growing farther away, an illusion of his mind's eye as he sensed an aversion. Had he truly let it slip so easily? …Could he, perhaps, tell her at this point—maybe give some hint, a tiny sliver of information, as to who he truly was? Perhaps show himself repentant and use his actions as her guardian to evidence this?

Gods, he wished to, even bathed in deceit as it would be… No, not even that. Imagine, to actually be candid and reveal himself to her… there was no conceivable way Zelda could simply snap back to being who she was meant to and have the years he'd spent on her wiped clear in seconds. She was too far gone. He would have her look upon him, in time, for what he was and still accept him, with the adulation and devotion she gifted him as the Shiekah, knowing that it was the Dark Lord she feared and realizing he'd spared her his wrath, as promised. How could she denounce him then, knowing that her attendant and enemy were one and the same? She may have her initial denial, perhaps some depression and emotional recoil, but it would come flooding back—the unyielding loyalty, even in the face of total betrayal. He'd built her up to it, and left no other option.

She was and always would be his whether she wanted it or not.

And for that moment, he was so very tempted to just let go; to let the crimson wash through his hair, and allow his skin darken to show the results of the desert sun and dark magics… To let to exotic gold of his eyes shine without fading again thereafter.

But Ganondorf had cornered himself so adeptly, that no matter how badly the truth wanted to spill from his lips at this point, as tempting as it was… when they moved, he would only ever give a lie—even if it was simply the truth twisted, it would suit him first and foremost, and ensure what needed to happen did whether he enjoyed it or not. A means to an end, and nothing more. He simply couldn't afford to make the mistakes he did in the last era, and let his hubris be his downfall. Risk was a luxury, and he simply didn't have the odds to gamble with now—no matter how much faith he placed in his Zelda to stand by him.

Not until he had Courage in hand, and Link's bloodied corpse to back him.

"Because the seal holding the Evil King weakened long ago… and he's been acting through agents since you were a child, preparing the world for his release." He whispered, retreating inward to hide his conflicting duality as he sunk back into his chair. "As soon as you inherit Wisdom, he will be upon you to take it. He's cleared the throne, and chosen his avatar to see his return is as effortless as possible. That avatar will kill me, given the chance."

As her eyes widened, his closed. "…And yes, Zelda. That does indeed terrify me."

The Princess, for all her control previously, couldn't hide her shock as it took hold of her form, his words seeping into her to build it. She stood upright, hands leaving the desk as arms fell limply at her sides, icy pink lips parted to take in wavering breath. It felt as though an arctic wave had washed over her, breaking upon the shores of her mind to whip up old concern and reservation—Sheik shielded her from so many things… kept them hidden in their full gravity so she could gradually step up to face her bleak future. She knew well he only revealed them when he absolutely had to. But this… it numbed her with a fright she'd not felt in quite a while. He was right, time was marching toward them, unrelentingly, and as they moved through it, she sometimes forgot that others did as well… It was painfully crisp reminders like this, cutting into her skin like cracking whips, that made her all the more thankful she had Sheik with her to bring her though it and make her constantly aware of the danger.

She swallowed some, her mouth suddenly feeling dry, and forcing even breath as she stared down at her feet—reigning in the blow—she'd nod slowly. "…And you think Link may be this avatar… That's what you were talking about with Badon, when you mentioned Evil stirring…" She shivered visibly, as if the open window had let a chilled breeze wrap about her fragile form, and indeed, she felt as if one had. Her arms came up to curl feebly around her midsection, a self comfort and something of an inward recoil from the world.

Ganondorf inclined his head with an affirmative grunt, glancing sideward in a somewhat defeated manner. He held no guilt for incriminating the Hero further, and he knew that she would take his sullen demeanor as nothing more than his personal feel for the severity of what he'd implied… But the subtle sting of want to simply tear away the cloak of secrecy had stirred in him and though he knew it was impossible to do so of yet, the Gerudo only felt an urge to quicken things ever faster in its place.

"Yes, Zelda. I do, unfortunately…" A grimace, regretful, overcame him as he pretended to muse to himself, silently keeping tabs on her reaction. "And to think… I almost believed he might've been the Hero himself… Tch… What a fool I've been, no doubt the Dark Lord would've picked him for his resemblance, to throw us all off…" He shook his head, laying on the self depreciation that would cement it as a truth to the Princess. "If not for my thoughtless nostalgia… Your father may still be alive… Forgive me."

Zelda glanced up at him with an empathetic pity, shaking her head slowly and giving a small though sorrowful smile. "No, it's not your fault… Even I considered it, after your sparring match… I just wanted to believe there was some reason why he would best me, after all you've taught me, like my efforts were wasted… And think of it as a good thing, rather than a blow to my pride." She sighed some, moving to pad softly around the desk and come to his side, laying her hand upon his. "I knew there was something different about Link the moment I laid eyes on him, like he was simply too good to be true… and of course, now we know why."

She fell silent for a moment, reflecting with a forlorn and resigned sort of look—one that made her serene features seem distorted, like calm water broken by ripples. Her crystalline eyes shimmered upon the supposed Shiekah, affectionate and warm even through the awful subject of deliberation. "If you think it will help us… Then bring the Master Sword here. You've not been wrong when your instincts told you to do something previously, and lamenting the break in sanctity aside… I trust this time is no different. It was you, after all, that went to check on my father when Link went to meet him, and you who saved my life, in more ways than one, purely on gut feeling for what was right at the time."

The disguised Gerudo offered her a faint smirk, lightening the mood some as he moved his arm out from under her hand, letting it wrap about her waist and draw her inward and onto his lap. "Well, I certainly do have my moments." He chuckled, adjusting her upon him and holding her to be pressed side up against his chest, his face close to hers.

_And now, we're right back on track where we're supposed to be, _he thought, satisfied and pleased with himself for the way he'd turned this around. _Moments, indeed._

Not to mention the rather reassuring feeling of her slender form curling against his, with only the skintight Shiekan garbs between—something he found he now favored of them greatly, in the more sensual proximities they allowed. It was almost laughable that when Zelda was younger, he'd seen the near naked feeling of it as an awkward thing; a few years for her to develop, and now it was nothing short of advantageous.

Just like he could feel—almost as if her skin were upon his unhindered—the gentle rock of her body as she held in a giggle, the faint smile returning to her lips. He allowed a hand to reach up and brush her delicate jaw, following it back to lightly push the hood down and away, revealing the golden tresses he adored. In that instant, peculiar though it was, he found himself oddly reminded of a wedding veil, pulled back to reveal the blushing bride. And given his current mood, the thought wasn't fleeting; his possessiveness flaring in his desperation to cement the future and speed things along smoothly.

She smiled at him sweetly, and the words left him without much further thought.

"Zelda, aside from all this darker business, we need to make a start on wedding plans." He said, rather insistently, the corner of his mouth ticking.

She blinked, taken aback by the sudden change in subject, turning some to face him fully with her hands settling on his chest, fingers curled into the loose white fabric about his neck and front.

"Wedding plans? I thought we were going to wait until after everything was settled…" She trailed off, furrowing her brow. Though the Princess knew well her fiancé loved her, she also had never known him to be romantic in the typical sense. Her eyes would trace his lips and travel across his beard, idle as she began to consider this. Tilting her head, a stray lock would tumble over her shoulder as her icy pink lips pursed.

"Link's gone, My Father's gone, Valenzuela's captain, we're to defile the sacred grounds getting the Master Sword, you're Regent, then my training as well… Do you really think now is the time to be thinking about marriage?" She mused, suddenly somewhat dejected. "How would we even go about broaching that to the Council? Nobody even truly knows we are an item, save for Shad…"

The Gerudo raised a brow, smirking some as a flash of mischief came to his eyes. "Therein lies the beauty of it… We can suggest it as a purely political thing, to usher you into the throne earlier than the law would otherwise allow." He knew he needn't sweeten the deal any further than granting her the wedding she desired, but just to tip her enthusiasm further, he added, "Do you honestly think those old fools in the Council will turn down an opportunity to see you crowned Queen in this tumultuous time? Boost the morale of the people, raise spirits… What better a way to heal the wound of your Father's assassination than with a happy occasion like a wedding, cementing the country's stability?"

Zelda made a thoughtful hum, brightening some at the prospect. He was right, the Council would likely approve of the odd coupling—and unorthodox age gap— if they suggested it now, rather than wait… especially in that light. She had always assumed they would have to wait until she was old enough to take the throne and then choose him as a suitor, going through all the motions and dodging through protocol… but now that Sheik was Regent, the political reasons to give for it were sound, and he held power enough to push it along. Nobody would suspect pre-marital unions of any sort; why would they? The Princess could have her white wedding with Sheik, earlier than planned, and have it accepted easily. Slowly her smile spread upon her pretty face, lightening it from the previous gloom.

"I can come in on the decisions and actually have a voice they need listen to, as well… Ease the burden upon you, too, give you more spare time…" She mused, with something of a mischievous snicker. "I'll be above their rules and regulations… To hell with their grooming, we can cut straight to the chase in all the panic and cut out the middle man entirely." She was grinning now, a feral curve upon her face, greedy for what she'd hoped for all along to come swiftly and with many added benefits. "I'll actually have the authority to be who I please to… and nobody could stifle it under a call to impress. We can prepare for the fight as we need to without having to hide or be hindered… And finally just… _be_ when it's all over."

Though he tried to force it down, it bubbled to the surface, a rumble in his chest turning to a wicked sort of laugh in his throat as his own feral smirk came to match her. "Full of ourselves and no man to come between, my Sweet." His arms snaked about her waist to pin her chest to his, cocking his head slightly toward her with a jut of his chin, a fire blazing in his crimson eyes. "In fact, we can see to it first thing after seeing off Valenzuela. I can call the councilmen to order and have the issue sorted out swiftly. The sooner the better…" He purred, thoroughly enjoying the look upon her beautiful visage.

In the right lights, with some prodding, the similarities to be found between them were eerily delightful—whether a product of his influence or simply facets to Zelda that usually went unexplored. But then, there had always been a selfish way about the Princess to find avenues around authority when she wanted something badly enough; had her ancestor not tiptoed about the King's feet and sent Link after the Spiritual Stones in spite of his dismissals, the Gerudo wouldn't be here today with seven years rule and a grudge under his belt.

The girl would only giggle coyly to herself as his lips found her neck, brushing over the flesh there as her head fell to the side, allowing access. "I do love your mind, Sheik. You've got such a wonderful knack for timing things…" It was something of a double entendre, given his lavishings, a contented smile worn as his hands came to trace the curve of her torso. She'd been unsettled by tonight's revelations, but when the man took her in those powerful arms, Zelda couldn't help but feel safe and secure. She knew that in the morning, those considerations and anxieties would return, balanced and weighed, but for now she could forget them entirely under the spell of his affections.

He was her shield and her escape; her personal reason to even get up in the morning at all.

Ganondorf felt the shiver sent down her spine as his mouth wandered about her pointed ear, his chin pushing aside the white fabric as he let his breath fan out against her skin. His hands had traveled down to her hips, gripping them in suggestion, as he purred low. "By the way… You still owe me for sneaking into my chambers and passing out, you teasing little nymph."

Zelda grinned guiltily, holding in a snicker as her cheeks took on a pink hue, eyes turned elsewhere and herself still not quite used to such heated encounters, though he'd taken her before. "I was… overwhelmed…!" She squeaked, distracted as the sharp point of a canine nipped the skin below her ear.

"I do have that effect, yes." He chuckled with an arrogant though playful tone, receiving a small and harmless smack to his shoulder. In response, he'd simply pull her hips forward, forcing some more intimate contact. She'd find him quite insistent now, as opposed to before their first sexual encounter—he'd sampled her, and found it to his liking… now she'd be called upon regularly to slick his lust. And the Gerudo King, being of such a solitary role among his people, was designed for regular intervals of such interaction. Seeding children was simply his birthright, in his desert home, and though he'd not sired a child in some years, he certainly wouldn't shy away from indulging in a woman's flesh with the same ritualistic frequency.

There was something enticingly fresh about the very scent of her; appealing and ripe, youthful, clean… He prayed it would never leave her, no matter how he sullied her with his wanton touch or sinister intentions. The way taut, creamy flesh thinly veiled the pulse of her blood, warming erogenous zones and beating to his ministrations like a wild drum; to see it darken or become sickly would be a grave loss and sin. When he laid eyes upon the sweetly tender flesh, glazed by the glow of torchlight or beckoning as she moved, clothing shifting to reveal a fraction discreetly, he always found the vampiric urge to bite into it; devour it. To break snowy skin and taste the ruby wine bliss beneath.

He growled low into the crook of her neck as she subtly responded, the light roll of her hips against him felt by greedy hands and more, his grip upon them tightening. His thumbs dipped to hook under bindings about her lower stomach, the bandage-like material covered the gap between top and bottom of her infuriatingly tight—though difficult to remove—attire.

"I need to get you out of this." He mused, clearly impatient with it already, thumbs tugging at the fabric and tickling her some.

She writhed away from his invasive touch, stifling more laughter, coy and playful as she was. Zelda herself still hadn't truly come into the world of lust, with only brief flickers of it and one embrace to be taken by it—she found his eagerness somewhat amusing. Her hands came to lightly bat at his as she slowly shimmied across his lap and slightly backward.

"Sh-Sheik! Stop it, that's ticklish…!" It seemed, much to the Gerudo's chagrin, she wasn't quite as spurred as he was—the Princess reveled in any attentions he gave her, especially more intimate ones, so it was perhaps somewhat unfortunate that she didn't pick up on the demanding nature of his 'signals'.

And having set about an argument with her, spoon feeding her what would be occurring in her life next and why, sitting through her incessant questioning of him and that awful affect she had to dismay his rage and still a striking hand, Ganondorf was in no mood to play about with his toy suddenly being 'ticklish'.

With an irritated snarling, teasingly caressing touches and subtle thumbs now turned into the corded muscle of his hands tearing the bandage off of her torso with loud rips. He ignored her wincing with discomfort, taking quickly to buckles about her hips and thighs to see her rid of leather like overlays. Slender brows frowned at his as she struggled some, her hands returning to attempt prying his violent grip away.

"Ow! Sheik, that hurts-!" She protested, but was silenced swiftly as she felt one of his hands move, slamming into her chest and forcing the wind from her as she was roughly shoved down upon the desk. She coughed, gasping with a painful twist to her features as the ache also shot through her back, hard contact with the wood made.

When she looked up again, squinting through clouded eyes, the imposingly large man was already making moves to stand over her and continue his assault to her clothing. Struggling to regain her breath, winded some, she fussed beneath him, moving her legs about and trying to evade his clawing hands as best she could, though to little avail—her left thigh was soon pinned beneath an iron grip, his weight crushing down on tender flesh there, as his other all but ripped the buckles loose. Zelda was, truthfully, expecting some tussling to occur; after all, the only thing she had to go by was her first time which, really, had been quite a painful experience. Not that it hadn't had it's high points as well, and she loved it, becoming one with her lover in such a way…

But there was something primal, feral and almost inhuman about him when he was like this. It frightened and thrilled her, but in the moments where pain was stronger than pleasure, the Princess couldn't help flinching away—even as she assumed this to be normal conduct, the memory of agony was just as fresh as the pleasure. She wasn't looking forward to that kind of pain again so quickly, despite the loving act it was born from. A nervous twisting in her gut had turned to some panic when, this time, he didn't seem to be giving her any time to brace herself… and the ache of her thigh and back, coupled with the sting of his blunt nails as they scraped flesh, tearing away fabrics that cut into her bruisingly… much as she tried to ignore it and tell herself it was all a part of it, she was scared.

And in here, of all places? It wasn't exactly secure. What if somebody saw or heard them; what would they think, what would happen, would it ruin everything? All the questions she'd asked the first time seemed to come flooding back, filling her with even more doubt. She was shrinking away from the man now, as much as was possible, becoming fragile and tiny, a meek thing upon the desk, caged by a very dark man who knew what he wanted and was very keen on getting it.

She whimpered as after both legs had been bruised in the tending to her attire, his calloused hand curled about the leathery belting around her hips and groin, a heavy jerk given to loosen it from her. "Sheik! S-stop, Ow! Please, that's n-not-!"

Her breath hitched when those piercing Golden eyes flicked upward to her face, his whole body still like a predator, poised to kill and feed. Gods, they haunted her so… Why the Gold? Where did the crimson she knew best go when he took on those eyes; what did they mean? Where they for her? Was it some magic she didn't know of? Those eyes… shimmering like embers about to burst into hell flames… they were harbingers of his darker nature. That she was certain of.

They were the merciless part of him; the true darkness in the man, despite the bright colour they portrayed—when he wore them, one might as well be staring into the open maw of a desert cobra, fangs bared and hiss sounding.

A cold feeling washed through her when he began to move, focused upon her face and seeming to cage her beneath him in an agonizingly slow but fluid manner until his face hovered over hers. "Zelda, my Sweet." He said, his rich voice eerily devoid of emotion for that moment, the Gold seeing down into the very bottom of her. "You love me, do you not?" And he'd wait, unblinking, until she answered; his gaze venomous.

Zelda coughed, reflexive, and strained her throat to swallow. She could hardly speak, trapped in his gaze and paralyzed there. "Y-yes, I do, a-and I know we've done this before… But… I... just…" The words were failing her as he seemed to draw impossibly nearer, as if crushing her with his eyes.

"Then what is the problem? Surely you don't have second thoughts on our _love making_?" He growled low, spitting the words at her as if they were, currently, worth nothing with the way she acted. The supposed Shiekah seemed to give her a quick once over, only a slight incline of his head to do so, looking between them. "This is an expression, physical, of our want to be together… The pain is like the hardships we go through to achieve what we have… Bittersweet and sublime. It's a poetic and beautiful thing. Real. Us." His eyes snapped up to hers again, cold despite their warm colour. "…Or is what we have not worth a little pain, endured to reach pleasure and the pinnacle of what we can have?"

He could barely keep himself reigned in, a sadistic grin tearing at his face from the inside to be shown, though he held it back—barely. She still writhed some for the discomfort he'd already caused her, legs twitching at the sides of his feebly. So much for all that strength and bravado earlier, storming into his private meetings and poking her dainty nose where he didn't need it, of yet… Still, what a gorgeous sight she was, the tiny tremor of fear in her and the uncertainty in her eyes. He knew she hadn't quite extended the masochism he'd instilled in her through other means into her sexual preferences—but soon enough, she'd beg for this kind of treatment. He craved it from her.

Certainly, he could admit—to himself—that he had never truly been this rough with other partners unless they responded well to it. But she brought it out of him in a way he couldn't quite explain… it held connection, perhaps, to the strange fetish he had for biting her, or supping her blood. Something of a show of dominance, mingled upon the intoxicating nature of her being; the rejuvenation he felt when he'd first taken her as if his spirit had leapt to life within his bones. Indeed, the sacred and untouchable things about her, hidden in the deepest labyrinths of her being, seemed to him a range of delicacies splayed out for his sampling when he could reach them. Break down her defenses with lust and shock, open her up with the same trepidation prey felt when they knew they were stalked, and take for his own greedy and sordid pleasures the sweetest nectars she could offer him.

Perhaps it was, he conceded internally, a remnant of the beast—the demon he'd inherited—interacting with the opposite sliver of holiness in her—the Goddess—seeking to defile and devour with an ancient need and purpose neither would ever truly know.

Zelda's delicate features twisted into a hurt look, one fearful of disappointing her lover, and the girl shook her head weakly. "I… I'm just not used to it… That's all… I like it, I do… Please…" She breathed helplessly, her arms moving to wrap around his neck and broad shoulders. "I'm still… adjusting to… all this… I don't mean to be difficult, just…" Perfect teeth bit down on her bottom lip, bringing a flushed hue to icy pink. "A little warning… maybe…"

She winced inwardly at herself—she felt awful really, for making all this fuss. She knew he wouldn't hurt her, not truly… a few bruises she got everyday, and it really wasn't all that bad. He was right, it was poetic and real, and it did reflect them. It was their love in unbiased truth, shared and cherished. What was some small discomfort in the face of all that? Zelda would pull herself upwards some to whisper against his ear, a heavy blush of humiliation settled on her cheeks as she desperately hoped she hadn't ruined it.

"…I want you to make love to me, I really do…" She murmured shyly, wracked with silent pathos for any hurt she might've caused in her selfishness.

Ganondorf let the sinister curve of satisfaction split his lips unseen as she buried into his neck, he breath warm and her back arching ever so slightly, inviting him. _This is far too easy,_ he cackled in his dark mind, _But the simplest pleasures are always the best._ He let and arm swoop beneath her curved back, pressing her to him as his mouth resumed its course over neck and jaw. He seemed slightly more gentle now, allowing her this tiny mercy until she 'adjusted'… the Gerudo had already unclipped and loosened everything he really needed to, anyway. Another slight tugging to pull the groin padding away, sliding materials down her bruised thighs, over knees and down toned shins to fall to the floor. Followed by her skin tight leggings, revealing creamy flesh, he noted with some dark glee his hand prints were now visible upon hips and thigh; how he did love to mark her with souvenirs of their passion.

He let his fingers glide along the tender flesh of her inner leg, tracing the silken path to the prize he sought, half hidden by a light tangle of modesty—such an odd caricature of intimacy it was, the junction of her thighs. As she whimpered with a sudden change of heart, beckoning the more favourable touch, he silently marveled upon the illusion of it; such a tiny frame under him, the contours of her appearing so small, that even the most intimate part of her was barely worth the size of his palm, if that.

And yet it would take him, selfishly freeing himself as he did to press his own urgent desires—unrelentingly—inward with little preparation. It almost hurt, the terse friction of dry skin until the tip of him was buries in warmth and silk. He'd stop there, enjoying the pained squeak it tore from her, apprehensive, before taking one of his keen thumbs to toy about the space between their hips. A slow caress, torturous and well placed, massaged there until the gasps came rolling sweetly from her throat, the delicate breath of a moan lilting at the back of them. His entry found less and less resistance, slipping inward, ever further, in a merciful and yet teasing climb.

Zelda's hips rolled softly against the movement, and the Gerudo was swiftly spurred to action, the powerful twist in his lower abdomen demanding it as abdominals tensed. A sudden and powerful thrust shunted the Princess beneath, tearing another gasp from her parched throat, hot and swift against his ear—she clung to him tightly, though his large hands would seek hold of her hips, unwilling to wait for reciprocation. He felt himself plunged deep and shuddered with the powerful sensation of it, insides around him fluttering to life with a spasmodic charm.

He let slip a rolling purr, half grunted with the hint of an awed chuckle. "Oh, my Queen, how I missed you…" The sweet nothing graced by the sweep of his teeth upon her ear, before a second and a third jolt against her would follow; eager moves to set a pace and indulge in her bodily splendour.

Ragged whimpers escaped the girl as she clung to him, not protesting or minding in the slightest that her own body was guided by his powerful hands, his fingers digging greedily into pale skin. A blissful and naughty grin came to claim her mouth, her thoughts now clouded heavily by how much this second time stimulated compared to the first—his thrusts were fast, steady, though firm and building in intensity. "M-my King…" She managed, moaned in automatic response, and no sooner did it leave her lips did he hit within a switch that sent sparks through her veins, voice sweetly breaking upon it like a wave.

And as the drumbeat strains of the night continued onward, ever chasing the epitome of carnal bliss, the witching hour had come and gone to bring upon them swiftly the new born day; beckoning new plans set into motion… and with them, designs of fate twisting into play, setting in stone the unknown events of the future.

**A/N:**

**I'm such a tease.**

**Anyhoo. I've written this up in apology for the long wait over the course of today… Hope its legible. I'm tired, lol.**

**Badon's back, Link's out in the world, Master Sword get, Marriage on horizon… Yeah, I think I've covered it. Ok!**

**Onward to Glory!**


	20. Admonitions

Very few knew all that much of the new King Regent, a peculiar thing in essence though accepted as a loathsome fact for the upper class gossips as they prattled. Due to this, many keen eyes watched his daily doings, and though this was nothing unusual—as he'd been the subject of some wonderment since appearing in the outset—the scrutiny with which the bored wives of noblemen and underappreciated scholars viewed him had only increased tenfold since his crowning.

It was of these strangely strained whispers of the Shiekah that new monikers had come about—The Sleepless King, Slumber-less Sentinel, the Restless Shadow. Humourous liltings, hidden behind the double chinned snickers, recalled the old rumor of the lullaby given to prove himself; such a funny thing, a Shiekah who never seemed to sleep gaining acceptance through a lullaby.

But above all of these things, the most heated whisper of late was, perhaps, one of dangerous musing—for a sleepless Shiekah to haunt castle halls, it was strange that the most horrible atrocities only seemed to occur at night.

Many had come to think the castle bore some curse, or perhaps, old and angered spirits who lashed out to claim and sunder. Nobles removed themselves in superstitious reasoning, scholars doubled their studies into obscure histories, and councilmen were quick to squash any such panic that may arise within the halls. There were the odd few who seemed to think the boy traitor, Link, was possessed by powerful demons, inherited from the old family head.

False anecdote would tell of the rancher Tarron, maddened old anarchist he was beneath the skin, who'd worshipped such creatures in a bid to revive his wife; some simply said he wished to hurt the world, and sear it with his grief for losing all he had. Others guessed some grievance with the royals and soldiers, as if he'd been denied in his youth an application into the ranks or something of the sort. Perhaps his children were brainwashed, not knowing of their demonic or otherwise hate fuelled indoctrinations until some trigger brought it out, such as Link's audience—and proximity to—the Late King.

The whispers of doubt in the case of the disguised Gerudo, however, were few and far between. It was almost as if most who did whisper were too ignorant—or perhaps, too fearful—to connect apparent negligence on the Shiekah's part, or Gods forbid dark intention, to the crimes since his appearance that day, on the festival, so long ago.

Nevertheless, the boy's disappearance had not been made public knowledge as yet… not when all the gossip of curses and old spirits and sleepless Regents was going on. Though the council was quickly running out of time, with questions as to when the execution was coming starting to build; restless residents seemed to want nothing shy of ridding the world of the bad spirits stemmed from the rancher and seeing the 'curse' lifted.

On a balcony overlooking the Gardens and the southern expanse, Castle Town and plains thereafter, backed by a distant horizon of forests as the fiery streaks of a warlike dawn splayed above it, Ganondorf leaned heavy elbows upon the stone to watch the sunrise. The lightest touch of a breeze licked at his shortened hair, and again he silently relished being relieved of the damnable plait he'd kept it in for years. This was refreshing, and so much more of his own, that he could close his eyes and easily venture back in time to when he'd first felt such a breeze; calming, soft upon his shortly spiked mane. Even Zelda preferred, what she thought was, his 'new look'. Rugged though regal, were the words she'd used, in fact. He smirked some as he recalled that.

And true to rumor, again, he'd not slept.

A few restless nights had been upon him now—yesternight, fitful tossing and turning as if he'd known Link had gotten free before being told, and the night now dying, which had been filled with guilty pleasures and planning. After having his wicked way, he'd taken his near comatose ward, exhausted by training and the aftermath of his lust, back to her chambers and made sure to rid her of her attire and replace it with a humble slip before returning to the study. He'd already palmed off the previous night she'd spent in his bed as her having a nightmare and, given her delicate manner after her father's passing, seeking comfort from him late at night. She'd fallen asleep in his company and he'd let her be, undisturbed—which was actually the truth of it anyway. With Shad's account of her being unsettled that evening, and the current pretense of his activity at night to roam and be awake, followed by the early finding of him in the study by the soldier, this had been accepted easily as nothing untoward.

Even then, he knew better than to tempt luck by having Zelda absent from her chambers again so soon, what with her harpy handmaidens and their love of mindless chatter.

An easy sigh rolled from his lips, warm against the morning chill to fog out, and his eyes reopened, crimson, once more. An idle finger traced a carved groove in the stone balustrade of the balcony, and he couldn't help but wonder if Zelda's sarcastic and agitated queries held any water. The Master Sword did indeed lie upon sacred grounds, perhaps it couldn't be shifted…

_But then, _he thought with a grimace, _I have defiled plenty of holy sites before with little recourse. _And surprisingly, Badon and his simple mind had come up with a rather unexpectedly effective solution. _Take it home, soil and all, wasn't it? _He had to admit, the idiot probably hit the nail on the head. _The answer with the fewest assumptions does tend to be the correct one. _

He laughed, a sinister and almost mocking sound as he rapped a hand against the cold stone in amusement. "…A thousand monkeys and quills! One of them will write a masterpiece, won't they?" It seemed, the more years went by, old proverbs gained meaning to him in their humourous way—though likely, not quite in the light they were written to.

"Who's a monkey?" Came a boisterous voice from behind, louder than it had to be and full of arrogant and clumsy pride.

The Gerudo turned side on to cast a look, seeming distracted for a moment as if forgetting he'd called for company. The briefing, yes… among other things… He cleared his throat, unable to wipe the smirk off of his face, and still seemingly in tune with whatever his previous ramblings were as his hands came to be held behind his back.

"Nobody in particular, Badon… Simply an old expression…" He clarified, the hint of his laughter lingering in the deep tone. "You're very prompt. That's good, given your first time here in the castle… I had expected to be waiting longer."

The bounty hunter stepped forward through the opened archway doors and onto the egress with curiosity, sparing a mint green glance to the horizon and giving a grunt to suggest he dismissed the odd phrase—given it wasn't about him, that he knew. His gait was haughtier than usual, accentuated by his attire—the golden armour associated with the Captain's position, crest embossed upon the polished breastplate and matched by filigree about the links and gaps. It seemed he was quite fond of it, though some insult was lost to the fact it was not the suit made for Link—Valenzuela's, however, did once belong to Talleday, and he wore it with pride sans the helmet, which was currently underarm.

The redhead gave a curt nod to the disguised Gerudo, a habit rearing up in the form of his gloved hand sweeping over his hair. Despite some repair to it since it was brutalized by the bastard Wolf, pompadour destroyed, the flicker of rage across carved features was evidence to his dislike of being reminded, no longer able to groom it as he obsessively did. In its place was now a jagged cowlick that, while ghosting the previous style, was little compared to the gravity defying beauty it once was.

He muttered a little under his breath, but swiftly answered. "Yeah, well, I am a man of the lands… Little castle like this can't hold a candle to something like the canyons or the mountains, or even the desert. You ever try navigating a sandstorm or a blizzard? Brutal… But I'm better still." He grinned a cocky, toothy smile. "Navigation's in the blood, and my blood's some of the best. Descended from one of the first settlers here, from a band of sky knights, too. He even named the country, so my old Pap used to tell me."

But, Valenzuela quieted some, refraining from the bragging he usually prattled—not that he was aware of the extent, truly—upon seeing the darkening look on the Regent's already weathered features. Was it just him or did the man always look ready to slit throats? …But, then, that was a good thing, among all these pussy-footing well-to-do's and pompous fops. A man who knew talent and could take action and had seen death; that was exactly what Badon liked about the new king, and what he served him so forwardly for. Those crimson eyes held the look of a killer, a man who got things done and didn't sit about talking and deliberating. But he could easily see the dark circles forming about said crimson gaze, making it seem a tad more murderous than usual, and biting his tongue, the bounty hunter let himself be silent.

He was here on business, after all.

"Fascinating." The Gerudo spat, a thinly veiled sarcasm dancing upon his tongue. "Good to see the suit of past Captains upon the shoulders of somebody _worthy_ to wear it, by _his word_." It was blunt, and even somewhat accusatory. "With such a fine pedigree, Badon, I expect you should return successful within, oh…" His eyes rolled upwards, as he pretended to think about this, and after a second they'd land squarely on the other with a vicious looking grin. "…Three days."

Badon's green eyes widened, his head cocking back as if he'd been slapped, though with a jerk of his frame he seemed keen to hide it, coughing some in cover. Slowly, he strained not to stutter his response. "Three days…? Oh, yeah, not a problem. I could probably get it done in two, myself, but hey, I know how it is. Gotta think of the other men…" He chuckled nervously, recoiling inside though outwardly he played calm, waving it off dismissively.

Ganondorf grimaced some with an affirmative hum, fighting the urge to roll his eyes, and decided it was best to call him out and make this as painlessly quick as possible. He stepped closer, eyeing the man with an almost predatory look, noting the quick tension barely visible beneath shoulder guards as crimson gaze became narrowed.

"The other men? Oh, true enough Valenzuela, they are a tawdry lot of glory chasers and lay abouts you'll need to watch closely…" He offered with a quiet and sly tone, "You'll fit right in with their mindsets, I'm sure. After all, for a week without supplies in the desert, you look suspiciously _alive_ to me. No doubt you'll run that little gem into the ground on the trip with so many… jealous fans…"

Badon began to lean back and away from the supposed Shiekah as he closed in, a slight frown forming as he fought the warring feelings of being cornered by a tiger and the niggling notion this man was calling him a liar. Worse yet, that the one tale he'd built fame on was the one he often embellished. At the heart of that story, behind the lies and fanfare, his hatred for Link had its roots. What people didn't know or realize was that, despite Badon bringing the head of the supposed bandit leader back with him, the bounty had never been claimed by haughty Valenzuela.

Only the tale, and with it, the fame that followed was his. The bounty had gone to one Link Lonell, and not a single life on his hands, as it rightfully should have—a quiet capture, and one that would've seen the odd disappearance of the bandits as little more than a curiosity with unknown cause. But, as far as Badon was concerned, the Wolf had stolen his mark and mocked him for getting there first without even killing his target.

That story was one he'd only intended to relay to Link, when again he stood face to face with the boy bastard.

His heart beating heavier than before, the bounty hunter inclined his head submissively, feeling as if his arm were being twisted. "…I killed that bandit and his men fair and square. He was my mark, and I'm the one who suffered for the reward. I know I got the leader, and I won't believe any different, no matter what them idiot lawmen say! Wolf boy got his damned brother, and my bounty… I'm no liar there, even if I might have spun the journey up a bit." He growled low, a sneering reply though his ire was not directed at the Sovereign. "He cheated me out of my money, getting the wrong man and at half the effort. I know that for a fact!" His hand came to point downwards in front of him, as if pointing out what he said in writing.

Ganondorf's eyes lit up, pleased that the simple Badon had given him—with a little hostility—a choice new piece of leverage, as he figured would happen. His smirk was a cruel one, bearing a hint of one pointed canine. Just a little more…

"Of course… but then, that means that the boy also matched you." He jibed, seeing the man's protest boiling beneath his skin, and the Gerudo continued remorselessly. "…Braving the desert sands, the harsh sun, to come out just as far as you did… That is hardly half the effort, Valenzuela. Knowing the brat, he was likely just as shy of equipment as you… And his love of animals, as it was made clear to me by his darling sister, would lead me to believe he left his horse at the desert's edge… Didn't he?"

The bounty hunter tensed up in anger, fists clenching tightly and his muscled arm squeezing down on the helmet it held. Gritted teeth held chiseled jaw locked, and though he wanted to bark out and tell him that was a lie, and the boy was nothing like him, it was painfully true. The Shiekah had a point, and Badon knew he wouldn't rest until the both of them were on the same page.

Mint eyes evaded crimson, staring upward as a heavy growling sigh hissed through his teeth. "…I guess… he was just… showing off." Was gruntingly given, the brute's rage not nearly as well handled as Ganondorf's, in similar moments. "What matters, is me gutting him… when I find him… and I will."

The Gerudo snarled at him, seeing the bounty hunter flinch some, and with a roll of his eyes a vicious hand came forward to take hold of Badon's throat, pulling him close. The bounty hunter didn't expect this, and so didn't react with the counter he normally would've, only able to take a strong hand to the Gerudo's wrist before being hissed at as crimson eyes disarmed him.

"Link bested you in that arena, and if not for the fact it could've cost him his chance at getting to the king, he would've killed you easily." Ganondorf spat in a snakelike whisper, "How the hell do you expect to gut him when the very thought of the boy gets you so angry, you cannot even see straight? He is every bit as good as you are, has overtaken you in your lazy showboating, and now everything is riding on the line for him. If you met him again, Valenzeula, as you are he would take seconds to strike you down, make no mistake about that."

The bounty hunter vaguely registered that his toes were barely upon the ground, his entire form lifted in the choking grip with ease—even with the size of Sheik, he had not expected such strength outright. The man was not even straining, and Badon was steadily beaten down by the words, each one like a slap. It was all true, loathe as he was to own up to it; he had been slacking off to ride the wave of fame. Link did best him, fairly, even when faced with a killing blow, and returned one—very nearly—in what was plainly a successful counter. Link hadn't fought dirty to achieve this, nor had he stuck around to rub it in. It was clinical, businesslike, and in Badon's view, callous. It was little wonder the boy ran off so quickly, despite his win—likely fuming with murderous rage, but unable to have it in lieu of the bigger goal… or worse, flippant about his opponent, as if Link didn't care enough to even mock him. As if the great Valenzuela meant nothing at all.

His hand upon the disguised Gerudo's wrist lessened its grip, a calm flooding his eyes with acceptance, and could he nod in that position he would have done, lips drawn thin with some shame. He was rewarded with his release, slowly settling back onto his heels as the Regent drew back, eyeing him pointedly and letting his hand hover between them.

"But…" It lingered in the air between them, any anger about either man dissipating into reticence, as the supposed Shiekah gave a tiny and knowing smile. "…I can change that."

The green eyed bounty hunter slumped some, staring at the Regent with an incredulous and surprised look, eyebrows furrowed. "Yeah? You wanna share with the class, here? Because unless you've got some magical spell up your sleeve, you've made it pretty clear I've been placed second to a traitor…" He muttered dejectedly, somewhat torn down a few notches from the berating he'd received.

Ganondorf let himself regard the other silently, unmoving and perhaps simply to give some suspense, watching the change in him. The delusions of grandeur in Badon's mind had definitely lost their shimmer—Perfect. Thick, bandaged fingers twitched with intent as the corner of the disguised Gerudo's mouth ticked upward.

"…Well, I am a Shiekah of noble blood…" He offered tantalizingly, letting the tension build. "…And as such, I am privy to quite a number of shadow magics that may close the gap between you…" Crimson eyes drifted sideward, almost evasively, as if the very mention of that were taboo.

After a moment of holding his gaze to the left of him, Ganondorf would turn away from the bounty hunter and look out over the morning sun as it climbed ever higher over the forested horizon. Hand came to be held behind his back as he stood there rigidly, chin high and regal as if he considered his suggestion with the utmost of secretive care and contemplation.

"…But, you see, Badon, these are ancient arts. My line is one of the best, however… even I am too… incomplete, shall we say, to use them alone." It was an apt covering of the truth of it—much like a Shiekah with watered down blood, he too was severed from the majority of his blessing, Power, and with it many complex spells blocked to him. He held all the knowledge, fresh as dew upon the rose gardens below, and yet there was no channel strong enough within him to direct such magics through… For that, he would need Power, and that would require Zelda's witness—and possibly alerting to the necklace's other purpose—or the boy's proximity, at present.

So he would make do with lesser mystics, potent, though horribly fragile—the stuff of deals and evil spirits who would demand blood and sacrifice; a temporary lending for a heavy cost. Badon would not know these magics… nor would he have any clue for the 'rules' of them.

And tempted as he would be now, Ganondorf knew he could manufacture a deal with the darkness that would leave him unscathed in success or failure.

"What I require is your blood. I can do the rest… But you will be bound to your goal irrevocably. You will succeed or die trying, and you must pledge that condition when offering your essence." He finished smoothly, not bothering to turn and face the other.

The bounty hunter had perked up some when the talk of magic had begun, mint green gaze tracking the movements of the Regent much the same way a dog would when expecting a treat. His hand, idle, had traveled to the top of the helmet he held underarm, fingers lightly brushing the metal as he mentally weighed the offer. He could live the good life here… have status, respect, and authority here, as the new Captain. None of his flaws would ever surface, none of this past shortcomings, or failures; all swept under the rug and replaced with genuine glory.

Badon cleared his throat some, a quiet and almost humble sound, strange from him. "If you lend me the power to kill the Wolf… Link… By whatever force it comes from, no matter how ugly or despised, no matter even if it comes from the nether Gods of misery and hate themselves…" He offered, a serious frown coming to cross his stoney features. "I'll swear to use it to the best of my ability. If I can't kill him even then… I deserve to be taken by the dark and twisted into whatever beast can, or killed outright."

He paused some, staring at the stone beneath his boots and tracing the marbling of it, muttering lightly. "…I never claimed to be a righteous kind of man… But that bastard is a monstrosity worse then some of the biggest kills I've made in my career. If taking him out makes the world better for it, then maybe it'll… redeem me of some of the shit I've done, myself…" His frown twisted into a scowl. "…But not before I unleash every sin I know onto that son of a bitch, first. I want to see him dying."

The supposed Shiekah grinned a malicious sort of smile, turning back to the other and holding out his hand, the gold of his eyes glinting in such a way as to blame the sunrise for the hue. His other unsheathed the dagger at the small of his back with a small flick of the wrist, and the Regent would nod.

"Good. Keep those words running through your mind, and give me your sword hand." He ordered, his tone almost betraying the laughter held in. It was almost too easy; Badon would make a wonderful kamikaze, and with this he would ensure that was his fate if it was required.

Unfortunately for the bounty hunter, he couldn't know that was almost a certainty so long as the Wolf still held the treasure of Courage—in fact, should Badon be successful in subduing the would be Hero, he would not see him dying at all. Programming would kick in that that point and signal his new master of their whereabouts, for easy collection, while the Captain remained in a trance like state of guardianship.

If he failed… He'd be programmed to do a good deal of damage, entering a state of rage that squashed any thought of self preservation until he was put down, alerting Ganondorf of the wounded Hero's presence.

_Thank the Gods for TwinRova's contributions to brainwashing, _the Gerudo snickered mentally. _Nabooru, this one's for you._

Valenzuela had complied, placing his hand palm up within his King's, a combination of naïve trust and desperation as he unknowingly began the process of selling his soul to a veritable devil. The sharp kiss of the blade slipped easily across his skin, a smooth motion to cleave and let the crimson blood paint a line in its wake, pooling after a moment and a wince.

Ganondorf guided Badon's hand into a fist, curling as if to grasp something, and his own large hand would move to cover it. A light crackling of black energy, something consuming, flickered over bandaged fingers in darted across Valenzuela's, seeping into skin and blood beneath to very quickly fuel creation. Where blood squelched between the folds of skin and leather, now there was the sensation of a solid, like a stone to seep up the essence—perhaps even made of it.

The bounty hunter watched without hiding his curiosity and apprehension. Ganondorf was correct; he didn't know magic at all, and in fact, had previously thought it something of a myth in this day and age. Muscles twitched when he felt, nervously, the result of the Regent's claims literally forming unseen in his grasp. Eyebrows twitched as he struggled to hold an single expression, his features wavering between the bemused scowl and averse grimace, his frame seeming to pull away from the activity altogether.

And when finally it was done, and the disguised Gerudo's hand fell away to be replaced with a self satisfied smirk, Badon withdrew his hand quickly, unsure if he wanted to open it but desperate to see the treasure bestowed him. Unfurling fingers and a downward squint would gingerly reveal the source of effort—a red crystal, ruby like and coloured by the blood, hanging from a golden chain and earring.

Immediately, Badon recognized it'd design, though his was farm less delicate, and somewhat crude in comparison—it was a matching piece to Zelda's necklace, something Badon had only notice for his greedy eyes and smitten study of her. His brow lifted in silent inquiry, though his mind was not quick enough to connect anything suspicious. As far as he knew, the Princess dressed and acted Shiekah in her spare time, and maybe this kind of jewelry was part and parcel with that style of fighting. _That'd make sense_, he thought idly, _if the key is some secret Shiekah technique you can't learn without the permission of one, or something._

His thoughts, minimalist in his awe as they were, were interrupted by the rich tone of the other, forcing his eyes upward with a blink.

"Wear that, Badon, and you'll have the edge you need. Think of it as a blood oath to yourself." The Shiekah crossed his arms, bringing thumb and forefinger to frame his face, as if considering how it would look on him, letting pointer tap against sideburn. "It shouldn't be too obvious… Put it on. Don't worry if your ear isn't pierced…"

Hesitant, the bounty hunter glanced down at the earring again. He had reservations, though he couldn't place why—he was well aware that this was, in effect, signing a contract. What he couldn't place, deep in the pit of his stomach, was the odd sensation of despair; the pulsing resentment for the item, in his pride, for what it meant. It was the easy way out, as always, though this time it was all or nothing. The shortcut, it was almost an omen of his undoing. He'd never truly had to face his nature in this manner before, and it unnerved him greatly. Perhaps his laziness and bloodlust would end him if he put it on… Perhaps they would even if he didn't… but then, he'd left himself no other choice, it seemed.

It was far too late to change himself, and if he could, Valenzuela prayed he never knew of that opportunity… Prayed he would ignore it, for it may well be now.

He sighed lightly, nodding with an almost solemn sort of tilt, as the earring was lifted, clip open to the lobe. The Regent's gold glinting eyes followed the crystal as he went about it, watching like a hawk after its prey; urging the claim to be made. Badon grimaced as it snapped shut, sending a sharp snap of pain through him that momentarily threatened his balance to make him sway, heat rushing down the back of his neck.

Ganondorf's smirk twisted into an insane looking grin as he watched, much the same way he had done with Zelda when presenting her with her own 'collar'. Now, he'd tagged Badon, as well. Two pets to do with as he wished, now, neither even capable of removing their badges of ownership or the influence they held over their hosts. He couldn't help but marvel at his own cleverness. Granted, the bounty hunter's charm didn't operate quite like Zelda's… but the reworked design of it, in the face of so little resource available, and the application of it all? He'd outdone himself really.

The Gerudo chuckled to himself, utterly pleased, and removed the fingers from his chin to wave the hand dismissively. "Very good. Now then, Valenzuela… I've organized a party of men who should be just about set to go. Meet them by the stables and set off as quickly as you can… Within you supplies you will find a marked map, and a list of instructions that you are to keep out of sight. Unless you're illiterate, there shouldn't be any problems."

Shaking his head some to rid it of the odd sensation from his ear, Badon still felt relatively normal, and a slightly bemused salute was given—insult ignored, for the most part. "Right… No problems… Sire…" He mused absently, turning to leave with a shaken gait.

Had a smarter man been in Valenzuela's shoes, perhaps more questions would've been asked in lieu of the terrible feeling of something being amiss.

Ganondorf was content to watch him go, turning away himself to continue watching the morning begin, only pausing to call out over his shoulder. "Oh, and Valenzuela… You would do well to remember…" He smirked, hearing the footsteps cease for a moment. "…Pride is not Power."

And as the warning hit him like a poison dart, seeping in to surely surface later, Badon was left to silently depart with a league of puzzle pieces in his mind, and no way to connect them.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the castle, Zelda had been roused—much to her chagrin—by her handmaidens already. With scant few hours sleep and the haze of dreams still hanging about the corners of her vision, the Princess now stumbled from her rooms with a yawn. Freshly brushed golden tresses dances across her shoulders and back as it fell from half pinning, a rather more fitting attire worn today as she intended to address council. White skirts with embroidered hems fell from her hips, waist tapered by belting and a lilac corset over a white, long sleeved chemise. Shoulder plates donned… necklace on show… earrings to match… No shoes beneath, as per her new secret rule.

Zelda's outfit was sharper than her half slumberous features, at any rate, as she emerged to tread the halls reluctantly, pining still for the warmth of her bed sheets. But beneath the heavy lidded grumpiness that clung to her still, a strange feeling of apprehension fluttered lightly through her veins, as if to warn her gently of pressing matters, or perhaps, echo the changes taking place in the world around her.

Then again, she'd not addressed council before by herself, nor been viewed as a leader while doing so. Sheik had mentioned they'd see it through together… why was it then she felt alone in the task? Where would he be? Off in his study awaiting her arrival, out organizing his affairs with Badon and the search party, or was he already prepping the council for today's discussions? Would she be late, did they expect her? What would they think, say, do?

Not to mention the rather large shift of lifestyle and changes to take place thereafter, both good and bad; unnerving and reassuring. It was much like the speech she'd given on the day of the tourney. An understated panic and isolation, padded out with some confusion and awe, as she tried to justify the change in her treatment and her own goals. All eyes on her, judging her and awaiting her voice; she was a beacon of hopefulness to others as much as she was a potential disappointment. The Princess felt something like an explorer, wandering through the wilds of her own life and trying to survive as she sought some impossible treasure. Zelda had, over the years, endeavored to be herself—unchanged—and recently, to extend that to pleasing herself firstly before others. But in lieu of everything, she couldn't help but wonder now…

Had she really stayed the same while the world around her changed? Or was it perhaps, in a strange twist, the other way around?

So when on her way to the King's Study she spotted, before the ornate doors, two council members with an older man she'd never seen, she froze. Her eyes widened some, along with the urge to simply hide, a quick glance given to a suit of armour beside as Zelda weighed her options. It took a few moments for the girl to realize that they hadn't noticed her as yet. Swallowing the jolt of anxiousness, a light shake of her head saw her mentally chastise herself. Why was she so jumpy? They were obviously after an audience with the Regent.

_Oh, I suppose Sheik isn't in the Study then,_ She breathed a small sigh of disappointment. _So he is still wrapped up with Badon… And then this meeting, whatever it's for, will take another hour at least, by the look of it… _

She studied them from afar, slowly moving to pad toward and past them to wait for her lover's business to be settled. She could sit with a good book in the drawing room until then… But as she drew near, Zelda registered—with some curiosity—the reverence with which the stranger was being treated. From down the way, Shad excused himself with a florid bow, and quite quickly began bounding over toward her. Zelda had little time to avoid him as she would've liked, not in the mood for people. He waved her down and within the moment had come to stand beside her, keen on escorting her and leaning close with an excited concern as to inform her of what was happening.

Shad's chipper voice tingled in her ears before he spoke as she forced herself to be more alert and awake, tilting her head as she forced another smile, inwardly recoiling at how the false cheer kept happening upon her lips.

"Zelda, my Dear, Good Morning!" He hailed with an awkward sort of smile in return—it was bright as usual, though it seemed he was unsure if it should be. The elder scholar took her hand, clasping it in his own warmly with a pat. "Well, perhaps not that _good_, per se, but well, ahem… That's… another matter…" He muttered quickly, furrowing his brows over small spectacles.

Zelda blinked up lazily at him, averse to how he'd approached with such sudden movement—much too quick for her liking, at this time of day. "Oh, yes… Good morning… or not… to you too, Sir Shadrian…" She managed through another yawn, shaking her head some with a slight frown as she tried to focus on what he'd said.

"…_Not_ a good morning? Why? What is happening?" She asked quietly, squinting beyond him to the council members and the stranger imperiously.

The Scholar paused, pulling a guilty look as his hand rose, fingers fixing upon the side of his glasses and holding them idly. "Well, you see, my Dear… There is some rather pressing news, but… well, it's… expected and alarming, I suppose." He stuttered some, not wanting to burden her with the gravity of what was happening while she was so freshly awoken. "It would seem a Sage is here with the urgent want to speak with you."

Zelda's eyes widened to stare at him some, her disbelief and surprise more obvious than usual in her unprepared state, and despite herself she parroted him. "A sage is here? To speak… _with me_?"

Crystalline eyes returned quickly to the old man as they approached him, her gaze roaming him as she allowed Shad to usher her along. Brown and orange robes concealed a slightly heavyset form, a grandfatherly elder standing with lively blue eyes that seemed to contradict his age. His eyebrows were long, and matched a head of thick white hair, like snow upon rounded, though somewhat wrinkled features. Zelda concluded, privately, that if Shad were a penguin, this Sage looked something like a wise owl.

Now it made sense why she was so jumpy—It was as if she had the premonition that something was very wrong, and that, maybe, it would be her fault.

_By Gods, he seems so familiar, _she thought with some surprise, unable to help shrinking some as those lively blue eyes met her own. The weight of the robed man's stare was certainly one to suggest divinity—he couldn't sense the sin about her form, fresh from last night, could he? That wasn't why he was here…was it? The warmth of a blush tinted her cheeks by the time she stood before him, looking up at the wrinkled face.

One of the Council members, a middle aged man that looked something like the late King, nodded to the Princess and Shad as they joined the small group. "Ah, here she is now, Your Holiness…" He mused, bowing lightly to Zelda. "Your Highness, may I introduce Rauru, Sage of the sacred Temple of Light—"

Rauru held up a hand as if to silence the other, and it was immediately effective as Zelda could barely register the words, replaced by the soft and wizened tone of a sage—a voice that seemed to take up all the air in the room.

"She knows well who I am, Themis." He offered gently, smiling down at the Princess with a wrinkled warmth. "Let us be… We have business that requires only we two, for know. I am sure she shall inform you of our dealings when we are done."

Zelda let her lips curve in a friendly manner, a nod given calmly and curtly as if to suggest she did know this Rauru. And true enough, she had heard of him… but to say she knew him, or at least, in the way the sage seemed to imply, was certainly false. She hid her nervousness well. Was she supposed to know him better than she did, and recognize him at a glance? Was it the strange that she did not?

Either way, she would not let her own shortcoming be seen for now.

"Yes, it is good to see you, Rauru… What an honour that you're here… though perhaps, unfortunate as well." She agreed evenly, seamlessly playing along and holding a neutral façade that made her tiredness transform into an illusion of serenity. Thank the Gods Shad had given her some heads up as to the nature of the visit. "Sir Shadrian, I was planning on calling the Council together this morning, already. If you await me there and call all to meeting, I'd be grateful… Inform my attendant as well, if you see him."

She'd turn the Scholar a thankful look, nodding as to his dismissal, and Shad returned to her a proud look that suggested he held faith in her to handle this. Themis and the other member moved to accompany him, and Sir Shadrian would pause only to hold up a sense of propriety, bowing some. "As you wish, Your Highness." He smiled fondly, tipping his glasses and turning to leave them.

Zelda watched him as he went, silently in his debt—he always made sure, in his subtle way, to establish her status as the one in charge when he could help it. It was rare, since Shad had begun to actively work to her affairs, for the Princess to be left without a say in things. The scholar simply wouldn't let her be brushed aside as the child any longer, and the thought left her with a smile that was swiftly turned up at Rauru.

"Now then," She began with an official sort of tone, moving past to cross the threshold of the study with a regal air. "I would assume the worst, despite the warmth you present with the others…"

Pointed ears twitched to the sound of soft soled boots behind her, and the click of latches to signal doors closing. She needn't look to know he'd never touched them, though they had shut, speaking of the fact he was the genuine article.

A flash of guilty apprehension surged through her again at the sight of the desk, a quick scan for any evidence as to her tryst given. It only made her more nervous, so instead, she diverted her path to sit upon a window seat, folding her hands in her lap to look up at him. She hoped she looked as innocent and dainty as she intended to.

Rauru himself moved much the same way one might expect, a soft fluidity that defied the look of his age, as he came to stand beside the window, taking a moment to gaze out among the gardens, as if distracted. His hands were held behind his back, and it reminded Zelda of her Father, though the Sage seemed to hold a softer aura then he did… The authority of it, though, was somehow the same.

After a moment, he spoke with a gentle and knowing look to her, inclining his head as he did so. "Indeed, Zelda… I must say, it has been some time since I last saw your face." He chuckled lightly, and aged sound that rolled from his chest. Blue eyes twinkled some when he studied her features, fond and indulging in a memory. "Forgive me, but it is good to see you again, though I've not yet had the pleasure in this lifetime. It saddens me that I must visit under such dire circumstance, as you've guessed, though your intuitiveness is certainly refreshing."

The Princess felt a hand rising unconsciously to tug at a lock of golden hair as she peered up at him, taking it in as she finally began to wake fully. She was actually speaking with a Sage, in her father's study, unaided. He knew her, and had asked after her alone.

…And it was then the fact hit her—he wouldn't be here if the news he held was merely 'worrying'.

She bit her lip lightly, chewing it a moment, and bracing herself for a conversation she dreaded. "…Rauru, I have to admit, I'd much prefer a trip down the Memory Lane of Hyrule with you than what you came to tell me…" Zelda held her breath a moment as she turned her gaze outward to the calming scene below, tracing the bloom of flowers against the green. "…But I would appreciate it if we could get down to business and have it over with, if you understand. I've spent a long time in preparation, mental and physical, even tactical… And it's been suspenseful enough already, to say the least. Just tell me, how long do we have until the Evil king is here?"

The Sage let his attention linger on her, noting how she avoided his gaze and appreciating the meaning behind what she'd said. She was still such a child inside, he could sense her fear, though she pressed on with commendable courage. This incarnation was so like her predecessor to him, though different again—unsure of herself around him, though certainly sure of her destiny. There was no question whatever she'd done to prepare, she'd put her soul into it, and so he'd nod once and allow her respite from his gaze.

He did not mince words when he answered. "The King of Evil is already free of his bonds, and appears to have been for some time now. He is already upon us, Zelda. There is no longer a 'when'." Seeing the girl tense up, Rauru let himself step nearer to place a comforting hand upon her shoulder, the both of them training their attention outward to the world—the world under threat.

"The truth of the matter is that we Sages are at fault. We never anticipated that the seal would break so soon… even that is a misnomer. It hasn't broken, merely weakened…" He admitted slowly, watching a sparrow as it flew by the window, noting the clouds moving in. "None of us expected that He would be able to slip though it until fully broken… perhaps his influence, yes, but not the Dark Lord himself. It seems we were mistaken."

Zelda shivered under the steady grip of his hand, a feeling of abject fear washing through her, and in that moment she was no better than a frightened girl hiding beneath the covers as a monster stalked behind the closet door. She had not expected this, how could she? The King of Evil was supposed to be a threat of the future, not one that had been working from the shadows for 'some time now'. The very notion had her blood turned to ice, her mind running wild with paranoia. Any illusion of safety she held to was being shattered, shards of it falling between her fingers as she simply focused upon the gardens—upon her mother's roses, as if the ghost of the Queen stood to guard her from the shadows beyond castle walls.

"I see." She breathed, barely able to speak for the air had left her already. "…So you were negligent then."

The elderly Sage closed his blue eyes, a pained look crossing his wrinkled features as creases deepened beside his mouth. "In some sense, yes… We could not know of our error until it was made. We were vigilant for the breaking point, maintaining the chains, though we were negligent to check inside the cage. The beast within had already slipped through the bars, and we… were perhaps too fearful to look inside, knowing that to do so was also to risk him breaking free."

Rauru would sigh, indulging his regret with silent pathos, and give an apologetic squeeze to her shoulder. "Forgive us. Without you as the Seventh power to bind, we couldn't ensure our actions either way. We would have found him within and risked releasing him into the world, or found him gone and have our fear confirmed. After years of deliberation and hesitation, it was the latter we were faced with, and now we must cleave to the cycle of fate."

Zelda could hear her heartbeat through her pointed ears, the light twitch of them to the rhythm of it betraying some of her internal trepidation. The cycle of fate—did that mean the Evil King was out there, amassing forces, to strike with a potent siege upon her sixteenth birthday? She shook her head, not wanting to think on it, the images in her mind's eye terrifying to behold.

She turned her head to look at Rauru with glistening crystalline eyes, a stern sense of determination in them, desperate for advantage. "Rauru, I need to know more than this. If he is among us as we speak, and has been for at least a small while, what brings you to inform me now? He will only strike when the cycle begins, will he not? Why now do you come?"

The elderly Sage let his hand slip from her shoulder then, held with the other in front of his midsection in a humble manner. The dim light from outside seemed to gleam upon the white of his hair and beard, adding to the already bright aura about him, as if he couldn't be touched by any darkness, even natural.

"I came to assess your welfare, Zelda. In truth, there is little I can do but to be assured of your well being." He offered softly, nodding to her with a small smile. "Recently, we have been aware of a dark power within these walls. The flickering of the Dark Lord's Power is as distinct as it was fleeting, but the night of your Father's murder, we all felt it. It was then we made the decision to risk exposure and investigate his bonds… When sure of his presence in this world, our next concern was what business the Dark Lord had made here besides the death of the King. We feared that you, too, had been targeted… fortunately, we've not sensed it since, though I thought better to come and see for myself."

The Princess blanched some, her mind reeling as she recalled everything that had happened over the last week or so. Her hands had begun to flex of their own accord, one hand twisting into her skirts and the other curling hair about shaky fingers.

_So Sheik was right, _she thought, the crisp acuity of it coming to the forefront of her mind, _Link really is an agent of the Evil King…_ It made so much sense now, when she thought of it. The strength required to pierce her Father's breastplate with the sword, the way the boy held his own against a Shiekah and very nearly killed Badon in the ring, his miraculous escape, and even the way he seemed to glean her trust with that friendly smile of his… He was practically designed to be the perfect infiltrating force to clear the path. With that sob story behind him, he'd suckered in the King flawlessly, and even—to her chagrin—her to some extent. Using his sister as a bargaining chip of sorts to throw off the scent as well, one had to question whether the whole family had been under dark orders, from Talleday's death to the King's and all in between.

Perhaps the rumours really were true, and Old Tarron really had sold his soul to regain his wife, and live prosperously thereafter.

With those thoughts, and apparent confirmation beyond reasonable doubt, she gave a solemn nod to Rauru, the Sage of light and quite possibly her final chance to see through the rouse of her attendant, and fed him the lie Ganondorf had instilled in her.

And never knowing of her conditioning, she wore a genuine smile as she did so.

"That is very kind of you to worry for me… But I was aware of the presence also. It was not the Evil King, but an agent of his, acting in his stead. I had almost fallen for the act, honestly, wary of him though I was… He presented himself so flawlessly, if not for the eyes of Truth watching after me, I may have never noticed at all. I have reason to believe my father's killer works very closely, perhaps even is the right hand man, of the Evil King, and we're taking steps to ensure we are protected."

Rauru took this in with a curious hum, thoughtful as he idly stroked his beard, regarding her silently—she seemed to perk up suddenly, as if reassured by her own words against this grave news. But the old sage was wise, and skeptical as ever. This would not pass so easily.

"I see…" He mused softly, his bushy brows furrowing some. "Zelda. If you permit me, I couldn't help but notice something amiss." He began, blue eyes roaming over her. "When addressed before, you still bore the title of 'Your Highness'… and now, you've mentioned 'eyes of Truth' watching for you. That would lead me to believe that when I spoke with Themis previously, his mention of the Regent would refer to another, and not yourself?" He queried with a small squint, "…And that attendant you mentioned… A Shiekah, I presume?"

Zelda's eyes widened a little in surprise, though she supposed she shouldn't be—after all, he was a Sage, of course he would have a keen mind, much more so than the average man. Still, it caught her aback just how much he'd gleaned from so little.

"Y-yes…" She stammered, before catching herself. "He is. He has been with me since I was a child… He has proved himself genuine countless times, from knowing my lullaby to giving detailed accounts of history and sharing with me stories that only the Shiekah could know… I understand the skepticism he was met with initially, given the apparent receding from Hyrule of his clan. Reputedly, he is of the same lineage as the Lady Impa. He is Regent at present, through an old law, but we were seeking to rectify that today…"

It was hard to say what was running through the old Sage's mind as she spoke, a myriad of things that couldn't be guessed by his expression. His face was as calm and warm as it had been, and he seemed to take in what she said, considerate.

"Ah…" He offered after a moment of thought, scratching his beard again as his gaze wandered to the ceiling. "It is good that your attendant is not a recent addition to Royal service, then. It sounds as if he is as you claim, though I must admit, I am surprised that any have returned…" Rauru would trail off there, seeming to lose his voice to thought once more.

Zelda, thankfully, caught him again to continue, more than happy to leap to Sheik's praise. "He came here on the order of an elder who'd received visions of the Evil King's return. He saved my life the day I met him, and since, he's saved me again in countless ways… I've been trained in the way of a Shiekah, and he's made me very aware of what the future holds… even apprehended the Agent that assassinated my Father, though the man escaped shortly after, no doubt aided by darkness…"

Her gaze fell to the marble flooring, tracing the patterns in it as a moment of reticence fell between them. She didn't want to mention the Master Sword to Rauru, still somewhat guilt-stricken about the whole affair; if she were offended by the idea, however necessary, the Sage of Light might well faint… but then, she supposed he'd know either way. Zelda had no desire to deal with that reaction, though felt it was probably best to run it by him at least.

Rauru had stepped away, the soft padding of his feet sounding though he seemed to glide over the floor. He came to stop beside the globe, letting his hand rest on its topmost pole and turning it some, as if inspecting how accurate the atlas was. Without looking over at her, he responded with a calming tone.

"If they serve the darkness, they shall surely fall before the Hero." It echoed between them, a simple truth, and Zelda felt herself smile as he continued. "Just as we've felt the flicker of Power, so too have we felt Courage responding. It is only a matter of time."

"That's wonderful." The Princess breathed, relieved, and placed a hand to her heart. There was a Hero stirring out there after all, it was just a matter of finding him. Her lips moved to speak, though she found herself cut off by the sage.

"Now, then, tell me how you were to 'rectify' this attendant in his Regency?" He turned to her once more, blue eyes sparkling with a pleased look in them. If any small skepticism remained, it was having another on the Throne.

Zelda brightened some, her ears twitching to her lifting spirits. "Oh, well, as I said before, we were going to call Council to a meeting… It's important that I become Queen, and I've been advised that it's best to do that before my sixteenth, when the cycle starts, so that I have the power to defend accordingly. We were going to organize that arrangement through a political marriage… Though if I am truthful with you… well…"

She blushed some as the elder studied her, only able to look at him for brief glances at a time as she brush a wayward lock over her ear. "…I don't mind marrying the man who has been my dearest friend and confidant for years, either… Good for stability and morale, and defenses… all the while I still manage to marry for love. He's already shown great leadership qualities as well, and everyone respects him. He's been preparing for the Evil King's assault… more than anybody… and bringing me up to the task as well."

Rauru seemed to soften then, nodding with understanding, and let a grandfatherly smile appear as he returned to her side to, once again, pat her shoulder fondly. "How fortunate… You speak warmly of him, and I am sure he will prove to be a strong partner, if that is what you feel." He gestured to her chest, drawing attention to the necklace. "That would explain such a strange trinket… Trained in the ways of a Shiekah, yourself…" He chuckled, shaking his head. "The return of Sheik to face the King of Evil once again, who'd have guessed..."

Zelda relaxed some then, letting some apprehension slide. Rauru was right, he would be a strong partner, and together, the two of them had been safe from the clutches of evil so far. The future would not be any different, especially with the Hero on the horizon, waiting for the call of fate. She had worried some, for a moment there, that the Sage would be unapproving of her coupling… perhaps it was just the chill of the window, a cold sweep seeping in from outside to prickle her skin. Rauru seemed to remember Sheik, and knowing he was her attendant and future husband, surely his concerns were now put to rest.

"Yes. Sheik is a very important part of my life… I don't think I'd be able to do any of this without that support." She conceded with a subdued giggle, gently running her fingers over the necklace.

Little did she know, the Sheik Rauru referred to was herself in the past era—if only they had discussed him more, it may have been revealed that they had shared a miscommunication, and suspicions could've been raised accordingly.

Still, the subject seemed to pass by, and Zelda thought she should broach the issue of the sword, more importantly. Drawing a steadying breath, she decided to take this under her own risk, and broach this as a decision she'd made as a leader. After all, without her approval, it wouldn't be done.

That's what she told herself.

"Rauru… I must at least tell you, and forgive me for my insult to you and the great spirits by doing it, but…" She paused, feeling his eyes on her and seeing the curiosity in them as she fumbled with the soft fabric of her skirts. "The Master Sword… Again, forgive me, but… It is going to be moved here, to the castle. It's a great asset as to our defenses, and given the likelihood of the Hero seeking me out, having it on hand for him to take seems the best course of action."

The Sage let his bushy brows rise, a soft twitching of his hands beneath orange sleeves the only thing to show his surprise, or perhaps, offense if he held any. He seemed to stare at her for a moment, frozen in this way, and very slowly, inclined his head.

"You realize the burden you would carry in being the protector of such a holy weapon, do you not, Zelda?" He questioned slowly, in much the same manner a parent would when dealing with a boastful claim made by their quickly maturing child for independence. "I can certainly understand the advantages of such a move, but you must also be aware that such a thing may make this castle a target… and as such, the people in this town…? Their lives would rest solely within your hands… You mustn't betray them in that, no matter what comes of the move, your duty is to them before the Hero or even yourself."

Zelda blinked with a light furrow of her brow, shifting some upon her window seat. "But if the Evil King is already free, then what hope might there be for any of them if we do not ensure the Hero has that sword, or that we have some preemptive control? They are already a target for as long as I am here and alive… I see little difference in their suffering either way… We may as well take all the measures we can to see it diminished."

Rauru would shake his head lightly, glancing out across the gardens again as his hand fell away; the clouds had grown grey and dark outside, beckoning rain. "When that sword is moved, you will also move the lines of fate itself. Drastic time call for drastic measures, this is true… and as such, I can condone your judgment. If you feel it is right, I will not contest you… But know that you gamble." His kindly eyes turned to her with a seriousness to them, calm and factual, though somewhat regretful.

"Your ancestor… you, in a past life, made her mistake by thinking she could control the fate of these things. She gambled, though she didn't realize it, and so couldn't foresee the future outcomes besides her own plans. It was she who allowed the Door of Time to be opened, and when she attempted to control the sacred realm to prevent evil, inadvertently caused it. That was the First Cataclysm… So I would heed you the lesson. Do not allow your methods for prevention to be turned against you in hubris, Zelda, for some things are destined to happen even if every caution is taken against them."

He turned from her then, as her face fell, and began moving for the ornate doors of the study. The light had dimmed now in the cloudy weather from when they'd first entered, seeming to cast a slight gloom. The slow glide, ghostly, echoed his steps as the doors clicked and opened of their own accord, as Zelda stood behind him, hesitant to see him go. Before she could gather her words or questions, he offered the last of his parting advice.

"The people of this land will suffer in one way or another, this is true. But you should be careful as to which force will cause more damage… The good that seeks to help and prevent, or the evil that seeks to tempt and destroy. It is not only final battles that take their toll. You must always take into account the risks, and know that your victory, however planned for, is never assured."

And with that he would cross the threshold of the King's study once more, the gentle swing of doors closing behind him as he left her. Zelda stared at them a moment, disbelieving of his sudden exit, and shook her head as she moved quickly after him.

"No, wait, Rauru! Please, there's so much more I would discuss—" She pleaded, calling after him as her own bare feet skittered quickly over cold marble, gloved hands reaching out to clasp brass handles and wrench the doors open. But as she did, the Princess standing there holding them, filling the gap between, she saw only an empty hallway as her heart fell. Thunder rumbled low in the distance, foreboding and seeming to accentuate the warning.

The Sage was gone, and only his words remained with her, alone again to face the course she'd charted—on a map designed for her by the Dark Lord himself—as already the party moved out into the fields, led by Badon to find and retrieve the holy blade. Zelda's choice, it seemed, had already been made for her, and all the advice in the world could not sway the path now. It was already happening, and the Princess was merely a spectator, pretending to be a player.

And still, very few knew anything at all about the Shiekah—not even the Sages.

**A/N:**

**The weird image things you can add to stories now are cool, aren't they?**

**I got so jazzed about it, 'Oh my god, I can have a cover' and then nerd squee.**

**So I made one. Drew up some faces, quick PS colouring. BOOM. Cover art.**

**Hah, I'm so very, very sad.**

**Anyway, I should probably mention that we are in treasure hunt mode now. I've given hints as to the ending, plenty enough to have puzzle masters piecing it together. I wonder if anybody can guess.**

**Still, they are subtle… And not this chapter specifically either, but I am curious as to what most people think is gonna happen.**

**But we still have a ways to go.**

**Onwards to Glory.**


	21. Interrogation

The room was almost as dark as it was small, cold stone brickwork a sooty black to let as little light avail as possible. Bereft of windows and with a musty scent, as if the tiny chamber still held the sweat stained cries of the others who had been kept here, one would always feel claustrophobic. Even the arrow alleyways of Castle Town's back districts didn't hold a candle to how confining and utterly bare this place seemed.

But among several impossible things slated to happen this day, still two soldiers managed to squeeze into the interrogation room alongside its captive, making the process even harder to endure than usual. It was stifling and isolated, leaving little but the voices to bounce off the walls, haunting echoes that never seemed to cease, drilling into the heads of those taken here.

And Telma had been here for hours beyond counting, her own sense of time warped now and internally skewed. Her hands were fastened tightly, ropes burning into tender flesh about her thick wrists, around the back of the chair in which she was seated. Made of hard oak, the seat itself was beginning to take its toll as well, producing an ache in the small of her back and the only piece of furniture in the room besides a matching table and identical chair onside.

The half points of her ears twitched to the baying questions spat and growled at her, high arched brows pulling down into frowns. Her lightly coppered skin was flushed with fresh bruising, and her legs had begun to fade from feeling all together. The brutish soldiers had thought nothing of her treatment, resorting to anything they were able to get away with, most of it she suspected simply for sadistic amusements—Traitor to the crown as she was, they'd told her every second sentence. At first they had been merely scornful, but as time continued to tick on with nothing spared of Link's whereabouts, they became as ravenous as wolves themselves.

Several dreadlocks had been cleaved from her head, a cheap shot at womanly vanity to coax her tongue, but Telma gave none of it. From there it had merely turned to ripping the locks from her altogether, the odd one missing here and there to leave tender, blood spotted patches. Her left eye and cheek around were swollen from where one had struck her, back hand, as a cost for feigned ignorance. A kick to her legs, for denying knowledge of the passage to her bar through the sewer ways, left a smarting crescent-like cut on her shin. Spittle lining patches of skin from where the men would spit at her, calling her a filthy whore and hissing spite for her mixed heritage among thieves…

But, the busty bar matron had not given a word against the Hero, not to condemn nor give any hint she knew of him at all, and finally, the soldiers were at wit's end.

One had left muttering about interrupting some engagement with the Royal Councilmen, and swiftly the crueler of the two, Krin as the other had called him, had opted to stay and antagonize the traitorous tavern whore—or, guard the suspect, as he so succinctly put it. It felt like an age had passed, timed only by the pacing of the soldier behind her, and Telma sat in tense silence to salvage something of a brief respite from her ordeal.

Hazel eyes had long since adjusted to darkness and through it, aided by the dimmed light of a sconce, she focused upon the droplets of blood scattered upon her thick apron. She couldn't recall which blow had placed them there. That was the very least of her worries, she knew. There was a very real chance that she, of mixed blood as she was, would be put to death on some charge, truthful or not, for the mere suspicion of her hand in things. Such was the way of old, of her Grandmother, of those who'd first migrated from the West into the prejudice of this country, though it was better that way, she supposed; death would ensure her silence. All that mattered was biting her tongue, and protecting that poor boy and his sister.

_Not to mention Ashei, bless her heart, _she thought, a sort of mother's worry turning her stomach with anxiety. Her fingers curled and flexed idly, keeping them awake and letting blood flow; with her heavy set frame, she position of having her hands tied back made for an uncomfortable stop starting of pins and needles through already tender hands. She could hear the pulse in her ears, and it nearly matched the soft steps of her keeper.

Telma couldn't help the grimace that crossed her mouth when she heard the soldier pause, his last step echoing out against the stone with the shift of metal. She knew he was going to send a few more barbs her way, perhaps hit her again; _Well, if he gets anything out of me his partner couldn't, he'll be favored for this kind of work again, won't he?_

And the horrid man did so enjoy his line of work when it entailed such games. To add insult to injury, they somewhat knew each other, with the frequent appearance of many ranks through her bar, though Telma would never have guessed as to the brutality thinly veiled by armor, that seemed rampant in this place. Men she'd served drinks to, smiled at, held light conversation with had spat at her heels, shot her dirty looks as she was dragged through the halls. Where before, her view of the soldiers extended to glory hounds, cowards, and a few good men between, now she was beginning to second guess the real nature of many men she'd met in the forces.

The death of their King, she pondered, had either hewn bitterness into them, or simply allowed what was already there to go unabated.

The soldier's voice was like a wasp beside her ear, leaning closer than comfort allowed, the smell of onion and meat on his breath. "So then, bar wench… I know with all that extra weight on your bones, it's hard to catch your breath, but surely you're feeling more _comfortable_ with your old pal Krin after a breather?" He sniped dryly, imperious.

Telma set the sneer upon her lip, biting her tongue. She had never faired well when it came to comments on her weight, though it was common knowledge that to raise the matron's ire was never wise. However, she was not in her domain, and so it made no difference here, bound as she was. Were Louise here, faithful thing she was, a cattish hiss would've resounded in defense of her owner. Sadly, a twitch of her shoulders was all Krin received instead.

In the shadows behind her he scoffed, and Telma felt his calloused fingers lightly pick up another thick lock of hair, as if inspecting it for lice. His acidic tone sounded again, stained by loyalty to his superiors held over mercy.

"You women, all you ever do is talk, but when somebody actually wants something decent to come out of your poisonous mouth, you're as silent as a thief…" After a moment, he laughed, haughty. "Oh yes, but you _are_ a thief, aren't you? And here I thought you harlot desert spawn despised we Hylians. Do you protect him for your own lustful fancy, or because he killed your Lord, the King, for you?"

How long had it been since she'd heard anything of the sort of filth he was spewing now? So very long ago, when she was a child teased for the colour of her hair, perhaps, was the first time… Every so often since, she'd come across an upperclassman who looked down on her for more than just class. Again, when she tried to start a business and make an honest living in protest to her own history, and yet the lender wouldn't pay 'thieves'—it was, ironically, through that act of racism she set the course that led her to this room, leant the money instead by Link's mother, her friend.

Telma winced inwardly at the memory. It was obvious that she bore Gerudo heritage, yes, but in this day and age, very rare that she ever truly suffered for it. She knew little of the culture of her grandmother's; she was born in Hyrule, raised on these streets and never having stood upon the sands of the West. Scattered among the vast array of people that made up this bustling heart of the world, so many held good souls and kindly natures, it was easy to forget the prejudice of the past generations; how strong it was, and how cutting.

And so unfortunate to see it alive and well, just like the nerves such words struck.

She couldn't help it, her voice wrenched from her by them, as she turned her head in an attempt to scowl at the man behind her. "His Majesty the King was a good man, and I still serve him faithfully as I do Princess Zelda and this country, you hear!" She barked out, vicious as her temper flared up, though it drew a grimace of pain as she pulled against the ropes to make wrists burn. "I would never wish anything upon them like that, for any reason, least of all that one, you bastard! I found Talleday dead in the streets; I did right by him in that! _I_ got the doctor in, _I _moved him to my bar, _I_ found the murder weapon! I've always been loyal to the crown, serving you damned silvers drinks and hot meals and listening to all your bloody stories about how hard the training is while you sit on your laurels and the rest of us struggle!"

"Oho, feisty as I'd expect from one of you desert snakes..." He laughed, seemingly amused, though it was hard to judge for the fact he stayed out of sight. "You're right, Telma, really, think about it… Nobody saw Talleday in the streets did they, save you? Did old Tarron kill him or get you, good old friend of his, to? Did you hide the body in your bar and try to bribe the doctor without success? What then? Play it off like you didn't know any better?"

Krin snorted derisively, kicking the leg of the chair to shunt it with a slight screech. "My father used to tell me stories about the lying murderous whores who packed it up and fled the west into these lands, stealing honest men and watering down that filthy blood of yours to have half caste bastard-daughters pass for decent women. Pity about that damned devil red hair of yours, or it might just have worked. Must be all that spilt blood, staining it that way."

As he roared again with that vile laughter, Telma felt her blood boiling beneath the surface, disgust and hatred pulsing in her. She struggled against her chair, willing the ropes loose so that she might get up and, against whatever odds, throttle the man before the others came—she could already hear the echo of footsteps beyond the iron door.

"You shut your mouth, you hear, or I swear I'll—"

"You'll what, whore? Traitor, usurper, demon blood? What would you do?" He interjected, leaning daringly close so that his breath tickled the rigid hairs on the back of her neck. She could feel the knuckles of his cold fingers brush her shoulders as he gripped the back of her chair. "Since we're so chummy, I'll tell you a secret; you gypsies love those, don't you?"

Telma saw blotches of white before her eyes as Krin yanked on her dreadlocked hair, twisting them in his fist and forcing her head back so that he could whisper in a condescendingly secretive manner, mocking her. "Unworthy of it though you are, all your fuss and fight has gained you an audience with the _new King_… And word of warning to you, witch, he doesn't take too kindly toward threats… Or lies… Or fat hags like yourself…"

Telma stiffened then with apprehension, feeling her blood run cold as he continued, her struggle ceasing for the moment. "…See, I can understand you getting mouthy with me, or staying silent with the rest… But him?"

The room filled with the awful screech of the rusted hinges, the door giving way to the silhouettes of Telma's new company as Krin laughed, nodding in that direction with another yank to her hair as he spat in her ear.

"…He'll flay the shit stained skin right off those big bones of yours, _Honey_."

As her head was released with a jerk, Telma winced before looking up to stare wide eyed at the door to see if he spoke the truth. Straining through the dark to see a tall and broad shouldered figure make the first heavy stride into the room, the sound of his boot on stone reverberating in her bones, she felt a flash of fear. Her heart quickened and a quiver ran through her spine; a pressure seemed to seep into the room, like an omen of something truly dangerous, a literal presence of evil. It was, after all, this man who was responsible for every atrocity to happen since he arrived… She could only hope her own fate would not be the next on that growing list.

Ganondorf had been in a methodical mood since sunrise, sending Badon off on his quest and guiding the queasy councilmen through what should have been an easy announcement of intentions. It was only logical he would find himself here next, ever eager to handle his own business without fear for unnecessary meddling—interrogating the captured Telma, he knew, would herald very little unless he did it himself.

However, he found himself momentarily distracted by the very subtle burning in his ears. He knew the tones being used here all to well, and though he thought nothing of them in this context, a simple glance at the bar matron expanded this into a whole new realm of tentative. Crimson eyes gleamed with the dim flicker of the sconce, the illumination acting to cast shadows and, ironically, somewhat confuse the eyes to make vision slightly worse than plain darkness. He skipped over whatever comment he came in on to focus on the soldier behind Telma, lingering a moment in the doorway before entering fully, nonchalant and aloof though his eyes tracked the occupants diligently.

_Well, I suppose the day still holds some surprises, _he thought dryly, cynical from his arguments with the council beforehand, _This could become interesting._

Telma seemed to immediately shift as he moved, he noted, her whole demeanor shifting from one of tense aversion to scorn and anger, her bound hands clenching tightly into white knuckled fists. Behind her, Krin stood upright, a diligent smirk on his face like that of a naughty child awaiting the punch line of their favorite prank.

"The prisoner has been prepped accordingly, Sire." He said, brushing brown bangs from his youthful face. "But she's as stubborn as the bull she resembles."

Stopping opposite her side of the oak table, bear as it was save the faded streaks of blood, Ganondorf could be assured now that he was closer—the captive was of Gerudo descent, without a doubt. A small facial tic was the only visible reaction to this, though internally, he was caught in a tiny war. She was, by all rights, an enemy of his, and yet she was one of the few of his own that remained. Perhaps he could sway her with heritage—after all, it was a Sheikah she took issue with, but would she deny her true King?

_And I see the age old methods of Hylian investigation are unchanged. Light battery peppered with insults. _The thought that he had inadvertently brought this upon a distant sister annoyed him greatly, but then, she shouldn't go unpunished, regardless.

He seemed to take up all the space in the room, towering over them with his powerful frame, the flickering shadows playing upon impressive and dangerous muscle. A casual glance followed the nasal voice to Krin, and stoically, he would nod once before returning his cold gaze to Telma.

"…You are relieved. Go. I will call for you when I'm done." He offered plainly in response, an authority in his deep tone that suggested no arguments would be had.

Krin snickered greedily as he moved to comply, pausing beside the Regent to flash a grin to the captive bar Matron, his hands held behind his back. "A bit disappointing… I had hoped to see strips torn out of this traitorous cream-caste's skin. I'm sure you'll handle her, Sire, but of course you can't expect much truth from a Geru—"

Before either Telma or Krin could even track what had happened, a sickening crunch echoed off the stone walling, the sure sound of collapsing cartilage as the soldier's nose hit the table edge. A small spray of blood had splayed from the point of contact to stain the wood freshly. Telma was left to flinch in shock, blinking at the sight of the Regent's large hand gripping the back of Krin's head to smash it firmly, and the soldier was greeted with a painful black.

Ganondorf held him there a moment, drawing a deep breath through his own nose, and then slowly relaxed his vice like hold of the man's skull to let him slip limply to the floor with a light clatter of armor. It was all he could do against the want to simply crush the man's skull within his powerful grasp, like glass. The danger of killing the man by the blow seemed justified in that instant as his old rages flared. He heard her gasp, an urge to roll his eyes growing, but then, he may have just murdered someone before her—he didn't know, nor did he care. Still, it spoke of how sheltered the women was in comparison to her foremothers.

His crimson gaze followed the soldier as he crumpled to the floor, unmoving and bleeding, the hint of a sneer upon his lip. Cream-Caste, he should've known he recognized that tone for a reason. Just the word running through his head so freshly made him itch with a want to throw the oaken table at the wall, and see it splinter against sooty stone, though as with most things, he hid it fabulously with a roll of his shoulders.

It was a knee-jerk reaction, but some things simply never died, and his violent reactions to such idiocy were among them. He knew the bar matron was already disturbed by his actions, and gave an answer to the silent questions rolling off of her twitchy form.

"…To see the legacy of a proud warrior race reduced to racial slur…" He sarcastically mused with a click of his tongue, unsurprised, and affixed Telma with a pointed look. "…is in my opinion punishable by death. Even in your case, though you disgrace yourself well enough without racial issue coming into it. Still, you do have a lot to answer for…"

The heavy set woman couldn't tear her eyes from the imposing Regent as he stood before her, especially now—if she had thought him a danger before, such a flippant show of brute force simply amplified her anxiety. She swallowed slowly against a dry throat, parched as she was and wishing secretly for a pint of her prized mead. A drink would do her good about now, if not to simply calm nerves. She seemed to shy away as much as was possible, sinking back against her chair and holding her head back as if she'd caught an offensive smell.

But at least she might be spared racial bigotry—in fact, that was perhaps what caught her off guard most of all. With the history of the Great War behind them, why would a Sheikah defend her, even in a violently opportunistic way, against something as common as slander like that? It was almost common knowledge that the Gerudo and Sheikah had come to several heated blows in the past, as the two prominent warrior clans to have ever lived in Hyrule's borders.

She decided not to question it for now.

The bar matron spared a wary glance down to Krin before she found her voice, straining to keep it steady when it came.

"…The same could be said about you, from what I've been told…" She offered, countering with caution. Telma knew she wouldn't be able to simply be silent, though she may be able to evade him if she kept her wits about her.

Again, she found herself focusing upon the drops of blood on her apron, spotted about the square patterns in the thick fabric, fixated in order to anchor herself.

The disguised Gerudo scoffed, like a chuckle hitching low in his throat, and his hand moved as if to distract; a slow sweep of his hand over the white loose material of his front, as if drawing attention to the eye. He smirked at her curiously, his head turning to one side as he seemed to study her out of the corner of his eye, appraising the way she reacted to him.

"Good point. I expect you probably think the worst of me." He mused, almost as if a pondering had escaped him. "It leads me to wonder what exactly you heard…"

Telma shifted uncomfortably, a tiny wiggle to her jaw as she considered her options. "I hear rumors, just like anyone… What with my bar and all the people that go through it." She offered ambiguously, hazel eyes set to her lap.

It didn't take long for Ganondorf to catalog her various injuries, just by sight, and piece together a rough idea of what she'd endured to resist thus far. In his chest, underneath the matter at hand, he was somewhat proud of her resilience. No, certainly, there was no doubting the blood in her veins… maybe she did hold a loyalty to it even in this age. A corner of his mind naturally expected Gerudo women, even of diluted lines, to be moved in some form by the sight of the holy male; a natural and instinctive intuition as to whom governed them, championed them.

With that in mind, he began with a soft and smooth tone, settling large hands upon the wood of the table to lean. "Let me be direct." He purred, as if swaying a difficult child. "I know you had a good hand in freeing the boy, even if it was simply providing the escape route through which he absconded. To me, that is a fact, and logic denotes your guilt in either negligence or support, but I would wager you went all in on this one. To do that, with the overwhelming evidence stacked against him, would require a counter argument made that so moved you as to risk everything to help him…"

He seemed to draw closer to her over the table, and Telma was suddenly grateful for the barrier as she caught a strange glint in his eye, like a flash of gold.

"…What I want to know is simply what that was." He finished, punctuating it with a tap of his finger, expectant. "What he told you, and why…"

There was something puzzling about his eyes that caught her. She didn't dismiss the odd colour, the exotic gold, and her gut—something she'd always held to for instinct—absolutely churned. Out of the many people to see it, feel the doubt it stirred I them, for the first time, it seemed somebody heeded their own intuition.

The beads in her hair rattled slightly as she shook her head slowly, rueful and somewhat apprehensive about doing so at all. "…You'll never lay a finger on that boy, and I'm not going to help you try. I am guilty. Charge me, and be done with it, you hear? I won't tell you."

She'd expected some sort of recoil, a snarl, a strike, anything as she closed her eyes and waited for it. Nothing came. Not a sound. With a blink, furrowing her high arched brows and her left eye swollen to squint, she peered up again to see that he'd not moved. When their eyes met again, he smirked, and finally rounded the table with a casual gait.

Like a hawk encircling its prey, the disguised Gerudo began a slow pace around her, holding bandage covered hands behind his back, studying her as if inspecting a gem for any flaws. His eyes roamed her entire body without hesitation, mapping every skin spot and strand of hair, every crease in her leather coat; anyone would feel in that moment as if a predator had cornered them, hungry. His steps, despite his size, were rather quiet, and Telma found it a startling contrast to Krin's loud boot falls.

A good few moments passed, and just when Telma found the urge to break the silence, tense and awkward as it made her feel, he did instead.

"You're a strong woman… But I've had enough." His voice was low and calm, even somewhat considerate, as if he spoke to an old friend. "I've worked too long and hard for little details to trip me up now. Even if the truth comes out at this point, it would make little difference. Either nobody would believe it, or it would be covered up for the sake of saving face. I've no qualms at all about setting you free to return to your life on the condition you no longer help that whelp. If I find any contact between you, I'll have his sister killed."

With that, the round was complete and he stopped, peering at her before a hand removed itself from his back to rise upward. His fingers brushed her chin lightly, tilting her face ever so slightly this way and that for a moment. His smirk grew wider as she tried to avoid his fingers, cocking her head away and grimacing.

She scowled at him coldly, glaring daggers. How did he know of Malinna? Ah yes, she'd gone with Link to the Gala, hadn't she? Worse, she didn't doubt he would make good on that threat. Reluctantly, she met his gaze with a defiant silence. It was becoming painfully clear to her just what Link had meant when he spoke of this man—he had covered every base, and planned for this a long time. The Regent even admitted it, just now. There was nothing she could do for them beyond what she already had, and Telma now had to realize, with some horror, that this man really was holding all the cards.

When she gave no reply, Ganondorf's head tilted ponderously, turning to offer her a side-glance as something cunning shimmered in his now golden eyes. His fingers stopped being the curiously gentle caress and now forcefully held her jaw line, a dangerous precursor to choking her at any moment.

"I'm going to be as… monosyllabic as possible." He restarted, as if speaking with a difficult child. "I don't much care where the boy is. All I want to know… is what _you_ know of me, and then you can be on your merry way. The more information you give me, the more I will give you in turn. I may well tell you everything, answer any question you put to me." He shrugged, gauging her reaction with a hitched brow as he relaxed his warning and retracted his hand.

Telma's lips pursed and she found herself wondering, with a bemused scowl, what he was up to. Every question put to her since she came here was solely set around Link; where he was, what his plans were, who else was helping him, were there any accomplices. But then, those men honestly thought Link guilty of treason and assassination. Here she was with the true killer, the criminal mastermind behind everything, and all he wanted from her was some measure of how well she knew his guilt? Something simply didn't sit right with her about that.

But, to her chagrin, she also had a few questions spring to mind. He must've been baiting her. Ask him anything, but don't tell Link, or Malinna dies—Telma could hold all the answers to his downfall, and yet couldn't give them without paying in the rancher's blood. Was it worth it, in the greater good? This man was, for all intents and purposes, the King. He was the law, and he could shape this world to any dark design he intended to. He'd killed so many on his path to power, destroyed countless lives, manipulated everybody around him… What might he be capable of if he achieved his goals? What were his goals? Was being King enough for him, or was there something more? He seemed to imply there was indeed more to be done.

It was a horrible thought, and one that pained her greatly, but Link was correct—this man was a threat unlike ay Hyrule had seen, save perhaps for the legends of old. He could devastate these lands, corrupt the verdant green fields and forests, drain the life from the mountains and sky. He'd certainly managed it within the castle and this town… If Link was the Hero of this tale, to strike him down, was it fate that Malinna could be a martyr? She knew she had no right to guess at that. Still, perhaps she would be calling his bluff…

If she played her cards right about timing it, perhaps Malinna could be protected from his men, and then their little group might come away with something advantageous.

She sighed heavily, her head lolling forward in a defeatist manner as she warred with herself, hazel eyes mapping the blood speckled apron once again.

"…I know… that you are trying to trick me…" She conceded quietly, avoiding progression, her bound hands limply curling with the sensation of pins and needles. "You are cruel and cunning and nothing of what you claim to be. I know you can't be trusted."

The fire that had dimmed behind his irises leapt to life at that. It wasn't quite an agreement to his terms, and yet, a weak willed beginning. Whatever the case, it intrigued him—it was clear by her body language she was unsure of herself, caught between a rock and a hard place. That was promising, and he knew that he may be cornering her. A finger tapped upon his bicep rhythmically as his arms crossed over his broad chest.

"...What is your name?" He asked with a low timbre, eyes squinting some in curiosity.

A moment, and then, almost a whisper, "…Telma Baari."

Ganondorf chuckled wryly, nodding once as it clicked into place. "Baari… Strong family, with a good line… I'm a little surprised they lasted so long, even then, but if they fled here, I suppose that would make sense as to how they survived into this age." He offered vaguely, side stepping to move around the table once again, retreating from her. He came to the other chair, lowering himself into it in the same casual manner one might expect of a friend visiting one's home. He settled into it, a reflective look on his worn features as he peered upwards in memory, tracing back the history in his mind. The darkness played on his face, the dim flicker of the sconce above illuminating them in a regal manner, as if the shadows themselves acknowledged his superiority.

Telma couldn't help herself as her eyes followed him, a quizzical look on her face as hazel eyes grew confused and suspicious. He humored her quickly, smirking somewhat victoriously as he did so.

"I know your family very well, probably better than you do, though I'll admit, that was quite a time ago now… As a matter of fact, you might well be one of my descendants. I do recall a favorite of mine to bed was a Baari. A brilliant archer, she was, and quick witted. At least two of her daughters were mine… maybe three."

The bar matron's eyes widened, shock sweeping her features as she stared at him in disbelief. "E-excuse me?" She stuttered, blinking rapidly for a few moments. She could hardly believe he'd said that, and so brazenly. Surely that was a lie? Her mouth opened to speak and closed a few times before she managed to continue, in denial. "How is that even possible? I have no Sheikah in me, I'm sure I don't, and neither my mother nor my grandmother ever bore daughters to one! What the hell are you on about?"

Quickly, her pleasant features twisted back into the hateful scowl. "And more than that, what good, right minded woman would bed a monster like you?" She spat, turning it back on him.

Probably to her internal horror, the Gerudo King chuckled, a low and haughty sound, leaning back in his chair with repose. "…Princess Zelda, for one." He offered, haughty and amused. His grin only doubled as he watched her face fall, mouth agape and eyes wide.

_Ah, got you, _he thought, smug. Drawing a slow breath he allowed a pregnant pause to drift between them, and then feigned some surprise, as if he'd forgotten something.

At least now he had confirmation that Link did not know of his true identity, though he hadn't expected him to. That would also suggest Link had no more help than these mortal accomplices.

"…Forgive me; I was caught up in the memory. For a moment, I forgot my own disguise." He lied, training his features well to keep the exultant grin from it. "Perhaps I should introduce myself properly?" He offered, raising a brow in question and baiting her.

Telma had almost fallen for it, outrage and bleak curiosity burning into the pit of her stomach. She didn't know if he was lying or not, but somehow, she had an inkling he spoke the truth, and that was unnerving. Even so, she'd not stumble into his trap, she couldn't afford to, and so she swiftly fell silent again, glaring at her lap as her lips drew thin.

"…No. You keep it to yourself, I don't want to know, true or not, you hear?" She hissed, her voice cutting through the air like a knife, a rasp to it as the pain of her wrists tainted her tone.

Ganondorf's confident expression fell for a moment, replaced by a tired sneer, before he settled neatly into a shrug. She was wild and fiery of spirit, and he could easily tell that—tenacious and competitive, a strong and controlled will, and everything a Gerudo should be. And it appealed to him, in some ways, as much as it was beginning to try his patience.

Nevertheless, the Regent squared his shoulders, peering across to her with an icy stare.

"How unfortunate. And here I thought we had a deal." He sneeringly replied, crimson gaze glancing distractedly off to watch the weak flames of the sconce. "Well, then, I'll save the best secrets for the big finale, I suppose. Surely you've guessed by now that I am not a Sheikah… But regardless, let me ask you…" His eyes snapped back to her expectantly, watching as the woman tensed up.

"Were a Gerudo framed for the murder of a King…" He stated bluntly, almost in a low growl, "…Do you really think a Hylian would come to free them from their chains, and give themselves up to let them scurry away, _Telma_?" Her name was added to personalize it, make it inescapable, as he pinned her with his unrelenting gaze.

The bar matron seemed to hold a fire behind her hazel irises, matching him to hold her head high, swallowing down the shiver his eyes sent down her spine. "…Probably not, I'll admit. But I didn't free him for being Hylian." She countered quietly, her voice firm. "I freed him for being a good man… just as I'd help him take you down for being a wicked one, whether you were Gerudo, Sheikah, or Hylian yourself. It makes no difference what race you are, you're either a good person, or you're not, and that's the mark of somebody's worth."

The creases of her leather coat thickened as she strained to lean forward, ropes biting into her wrists as she gave him a stern and clear glare. "…And you are without a doubt the worst person I know, you hear?"

Slowly the Gerudo King relaxed his pose, his eyes losing their fierceness to hold a fond warmth; suddenly he was her long lost friend again. His hand rose to scratch idly at his chin, idle and seeming to suggest her opinion held little affect on him.

_Time to switch this up, _he thought, beginning to enjoy the challenge.

From arms folded on his chest, he waved a hand with a tilt of his head, as if considering something. "I am a terrible person, by Hylian opinion. You, Telma, clearly aren't too aware of what your ancestors truly suffered through, but I can't hold that against you. It's not your fault for being born into the ignorant world you have been…" He seemingly mused out loud, letting his fingertips trace his chin thoughtfully. "You know, there is an old scholar who resides here, and he often educates in the way of stories."

His eyes narrowed quickly before he flashed her a strange smile, liking how uncomfortable around him she was. She was eyeing him with a look of morbid curiosity, mixed with disgust. In a strange way, he was reminded of Nabooru—Telma wore her hair in a high ponytail, held the same sort of ideals, seemed to conduct herself with the same stubbornness and pride. Their eyes, though the bar matron's were dimmed and muddied by Hylian brown, were a matching set; that brown still held a gold like shimmer of Gerudo spirit in them.

"Allow me to tell you of the cloth you were cut from." He began, holding his chin in thumb and forefinger, "Your ancestors made their home in the desert, far into the West, as you know. But the Desert is a place that one cannot imagine living in unless it is actually done. I can tell, from the pale shade of your skin, neither you nor your mother would have endured its trials… if you have even seen the sands at all, am I correct?"

Telma saw his brow rise imperiously, and suddenly, despite her anger, she felt guilt. It was as if he was judging her, using an innate knowledge to measure her worth in turn, much as she had done with his morality. Her head inclined, and immediately she felt her double chin show, as if to prove his point. Her life had not been easy by any stretch, but it was nothing compared to the struggles she'd imagined for those who resided in the West. After all, her life had been spent here, in the lush Hyrulian fields, within a bustling city, never unable to find food or water, even in her most poverty stricken moments. Still, she gave him only silence, hiding her sudden insecurity.

Ganondorf nodded, leaving the question rhetorical, and his features shifted into a distant expression, thick brows furrowed as he mentally retraced his own steps through history and those taken before his time.

"Your ancestors would have told you of the Desert's beauty, were their whispers able to reach into this time. The valley named after them served as the only part of their lands with mercy, dry plant life and red earth that could grow some crop… A native bean, in fact… It was also the only real waterway on Gerudo soils, and blessed with a magnificent waterfall that, on the right day, sometimes bore a small rainbow over its crest. A wooden bridge and simple gateway was all that stood between the Desert and Hyrule, and the Valley had always been a strange hybrid of the two, in some ways… A small piece of harmony between them."

His expression softened, and a moment of reticence was taken between them as both seemed to be drawn into the image. Telma could see it vividly in her mind, and much as she despised the man before her, she couldn't help but love the way he spoke of the Valley. It made her yearn to go there, that regretful tone of mourning in his voice. Though she tried to hold it, as he continued, her frown began to fade.

"Next from there… You have the desert Mesas, in which you will find Gerudo fortress—it was the pride of the warriors, fortified in golden stone and holding an archery range to put the one here in the castle to shame. You could always hear the beating hooves and the spirited whistles of women as they trained. Behind the fortress and further back into the Mesas you find Gerudo tent villages, hidden within the sandstone pillars and untouched by Hylian design or influence, and even somewhat protected from the desert itself. Beyond there, out into the dunes, you find the haunted wasteland guarded by spirits, passing judgment on those who would cross it and decided whether they would succeed or be lost. From there, the Desert Colossus…"

A smile formed, nostalgic, upon his face. Ganondorf wore the guise of a Shiekah, but when he spoke of his old home, gold eyes alight with memory; he was himself all the same. "The Desert Colossus refers to the end of the known world-The Spirit temple marks it's beginning, and is built on the remnants of an oasis… a diamond in the rough, a sanctuary in the midst of a hungry best that devoured all life. But the spirits of the Desert endured, and the Gerudo inherited them. Respected them, and acknowledged them. The King who ordered its construction was historically one of the wealthiest ever recorded, but despite that, he was a humble man who respected the laws of nature, and the Gods who designed them."

"But he was protective of his culture, and those stranger who wandered too close to his borders were forced to pay tribute to the Goddess of the Sands, as well. Their goods were pilfered, and offered in part to the Goddess. The rest of the spoils were taken as the Gerudo's own, but never did they take so much as to leave the travelers without means. All of them would return to their homes, unharmed…" He trailed off there into a cynical chuckle, humorless, and shook his head. "Maybe that was his flaw. He was_ too _humble."

It hadn't taken Telma long to be absorbed into the tale of her history, greedy for it and awed by it, despite the odd manner in which it was given. Still, she was glad of it—he was distracted from asking after Link, and so this played in her favor. Her mind raced with new information, avid, though she couldn't help the foreboding feeling that learning of her culture would have an adverse affect upon her later. She was almost unsure of whether she could believe any of it, coming from him, and a part of her hurt for the fact a man like this knew more of her history than she did. Numb fingers flexed as her gaze traced the wood grain of the table, and she listened with a grain of salt.

The disguised Gerudo watched her for a moment, picking apart her body language—he had her right there, she was caught in the magic of his words, he knew, but still she was stoic and unresponsive. A long sigh escaped him and he shifted in his chair, a low click as its legs tapped stone, righted from his lean. Propping an elbow over the back of his chair, he turned away from her some, unable to look at her. He hated how it seemed he could no longer even reach the hearts of his own kind; three feet away from him, it may have well been miles. Painfully, Ganondorf was beginning to realize how alone he was.

When he'd seen her in the dim light, a flicker of hope had sparked in him. Perhaps he might find some semblance of the women he knew in her, sway her back to him and regain a tiny sliver of his true kingdom. It was a foolish thing, whimsical at first, but as her silence continued, it was taking its toll. It brought up a subtle fear that, somehow, his guise had devoured his true self, weakening it and warping it so that he was unrecognizable. Already, Hylian's had stripped him of so much of his own within his long lifetime, the notion that he may have given more willingly for convenience pained him greatly.

This Gerudo was indeed like Nabooru. She hated him, beyond any reason he could give her not to, and instead favored a Hylian child; a would-be Hero, that would inadvertently see harm come to the daughters of the Desert.

Still, he'd make sure she knew exactly how she betrayed her own, and him, if nothing else.

"Those instances," He muttered, growing bitter, "would sew the seeds of stigma that followed the Gerudo. 'Thieves', they called us, stealing in blasphemy to satiate a foreign Goddess, stating divine right to take what we desired. It used to anger me greatly, the hypocrisy of such outcries made, in particular, by the Hylians… After they would lay claim to the best of these lands, and the right of the laws in its borders, by the same primitive doctrine. I suppose they simply saw a rival in their own ways, and grew anxious, having tasted success with the method."

He grimaced, clicking his tongue and casting his eyes to the fallen Krin, still crumpled upon the floor with a pool of blood under half his face. "It's little wonder that I used it against them. I knew they would not change their opinions, so what use was there in avoiding them? If they wanted thieves, crusaders to use the divine in their climb to dominance, then they would have it in spades."

He saw her head snap up out of the corner of his eye, her hazel eyes wide with shock and epiphany, and he couldn't help the rumble of rueful laughter in his throat. Such a fool she was, but he couldn't blame her. He'd done everything he could to keep himself safe. A self depreciating smirk appeared to curve his mouth, and glancing up at her he let his gold eyes meet hers from the side.

"…It's good to see your wit is undimmed by Hylian blood." He conceded softly. "But you shouldn't look so surprised. You've held a face of stone for so long with me now; it's almost unbecoming on you."

Telma could only shake her head some, almost unable to process it, beads rattling lightly in her tussled hair. The more she looked now, the more she saw it, even in this poor light—the aquiline nose, the knit of his brows, his jaw line, the gold of his eyes, the smooth sliver of an accent that was familiar and yet, aloof. She could almost see it now, the pointed ears of his guise gone and rounded, and the sooty darkness of his true skin, mimicked by the shadows of the room. He was Gerudo under that mask. He was a King, and she knew now exactly which one.

"No…" She breathed, unaware of her voice even coming forth. "It can't be… You can't be him; you're nothing like the King I was told about as a child…" It didn't make any sense to her at all. Her grandmother, sitting a young Telma upon her aged knee, spoke so warmly and proudly of the Great Ganondorf. The King who had given all he had to free their people of a grave oppression, and lift them from the dregs of society they had become in an increasingly Hylian world. The Great Ganondorf who had gone to Hyrule and studied their scriptures, bested their King in a duel, artfully stolen the spiritual stones of old and been granted Din's blessing to rule all as a noble King, and give the green fields to his own people.

The Great Ganondorf who had passed into the Sage's care, now the guardian of the sacred realm, a paradise that reflected his heart, and was at peace there.

"No, I won't believe it, you hear? You are not the Great Ganondorf!" She cried, shaking her head forcefully in denial. "You're a demon!" She hissed, cringing away from him. Her hazel eyes shut tightly for a moment, her gut churning with the thought that her Grandmother, the warm kind woman she was, would lie to her. Perhaps she hadn't, Telma realized. Perhaps she was simply viewing things from the Gerudo point of perspective, and now, the bar matron was to Hylianised to see it.

It scared her to think that this vile man, who had caused so much pain and corruption, was also the very reason she held the life she had now, here in Castle Town. His action in the last age had secured her a good life here as an honest working woman of middle class, instead of struggling in the desert as a thief. In some senses, she owed him everything, even her very existence. And yet, he was an abomination, a murderous villain of unspeakable cruelty.

Was that really the 'cloth from which she was cut'? No, she would have no part of it. If that was truly the case, then it only made her sacrifice to protect Link all the more justified.

Her voice hit him like an arrow, piercing his mind and shattering anything within it to present a sharp clarity. What was that just now? He paused, allowing the familiar sound to breeze through his mind, an echo. _Ganondorf…_ His name. She had used his name, and he'd barely recognized it. It almost made his teeth itch. He felt like he needed to do something, anything, to respond to it, and yet she'd spoken of him like he wasn't even there—as if she still spoke to Sheik, and that he was an imposter to the Gerudo. He stood, abruptly, and his oaken chair slid with a scrape across stone as his jaw clenched tightly, hands flexing into fists.

"I don't care what you believe. It's a fact that I am here, and I am you King, regardless of my Regency as Hyrule's current ruler." He growled, scowling down at her with an icy anger he couldn't quite place.

"Whether you like it or not, I still fight for our people's rights. Everything I do, I do for them. For _You_, Telma, and you repay me with betrayal of the most heinous kind. To wish for my downfall is to wish for abject slavery to Hylian ideals, bending to their will and forsaking everything your ancestors suffered for!"

His open palm struck the table, making the woman flinch with the sharp clap of it, and he leaned closer over the table to intimidate, his rages leaping to life behind his eyes. "These lands are owed to us! We had nothing and still the others would take more, strip our bones dry! Use us as cannon fodder in the war, treat the women like whores and stain them with unfaithful husband's lust! Every race was given some glimmer of hope, a reminder that they were still in the Gods' graces, but we Gerudo were simply left to die. Nobody would help us. How dare you, ignorant child you are, help them when we stand on the cusp of our vengeance?"

"You are no King of mine, and you never will be!" She cried, glaring up at him with a desperate hatred tat made her chest burn. "I know that they suffered! I know they had hard lives, and my ancestors may spurn me from their graves… But not a one of them would wish to become what they despised, if they truly were so opposed to the Hylians. Maybe once you were right, and did right by them, but when you left they made do, adapted and forged new futures for themselves… While you've become just the same as a spoilt, greedy, bad tempered Hylian King of the past! I will never believe that if they could see you now, they would still bow down to you, you hear! They would never ask for this!"

She wouldn't see it coming. It was faster than lightning when it did. Her head would connect painfully, drawing blood, with the stone of the flagstone floor it as his hand shot out to catch her throat, throwing his vast weight into it. She hadn't seen him move, or round the table, nor had she expected to feel his hand on her throat, but now she could only see the ceiling through a dazed blotchy white. Her hands were crushed beneath the weight of her and the hard wood of the chair, toppled. He was above her, bearing down as corded muscle bulged across his arm, ready to snap her if he chose.

His eyes burned with an inhuman fire, and he seemed eerily calm as he held her pinned by the choke against the stone. His lips spilt subtly, his voice seeping through them like poison as the barest hint of a fang could be seen through his sneer.

"...You did not ask. You were gifted this, and you will appreciate it, wretch, or so help me, you will not return to see the drunkards who hate you so."

Telma was only distantly aware of him now, a stray dreadlock brushing her cheek with a slight tickle to keep her grounded as she strayed into unconsciousness from the blow. She coughed as her hazel eyes became unfocussed, and exhausted as she was, she felt herself slipping. Still, she rasped out her final say, unable to do anything more.

"…You'll never lay… a f-finger… on that boy." She coughed, something of a smirk ticking the corner of her mouth. "He's something special… and he's going to be… j-just fine, I know he will… And when he's ready, for everything you've done to him, he'll come for you… y-you… hear…."

Ganondorf could only watch as her head fell to one side limply, her eyes fluttering closed as she entered a concussed blackness, and immediately knew his temper had rid him of whatever chances he had to pry anything from her. With lost last words, he was back to square one, with only the vague hinting that Link wasn't aware of his Hero status as yet, nor had figured out who his enemy truly was. That was something, yes, but not as clear as he'd hoped… and now, he was left with another issue altogether, the anger searing his heart as the last of his kind rejected him outright. She wanted nothing to do with him, and not even his attempts to appeal to her heritage had swayed her away from her loyalties to the Hylian crown and the Heroic brat.

On his feet again, he roared viciously at the shadows, turning in a rage to lay a massive hand to the table, gripping the edge and tossing it with inhuman strength against the wall. The crack of wood echoed as loudly as his yell, splintered bits of it scattering to the floor in a heap. With to bloodied bodies and the table demolished, the small room looked as if a tornado had hit it, and that was a fitting analogy for how Ganondorf currently felt—a hurricane of hurt and anger, homesickness and frustration.

He stood panting there, fists tightly curled with enough force to break skin upon his fingernails, if not for the bandage wraps. His teeth were pained with the force of his tense jaw, and his golden eyes were wild with hellfire. He wanted to go home, he realized. Back to his desert, back to his sisters, throw it all to hell and simply disappear for a while to bask in the incense and earthy tones of his homeland. The security of knowing he could be at ease there, in his rightful place, with people who understood him. The real him, and not this eclipsed silhouette of himself he wore now. This damnable castle, this stone cold town and all the peons in it, were driving him to despair, leaving him empty despite his success here.

_Sentinel of shadows, indeed, _he recalled resentfully, the voice of the fat old priest running through his mind.

How long did he have to live in the shadows? How long could he hide himself behind the face of something so false, so foreign to him? No, that was a lie, now. Ganondorf and 'Sheik' were almost interchangeable, bleeding into each other over the years. He no longer felt stable within himself, and this past week had only made him realize the alarm he felt at that. Just as he'd transformed Zelda, hardening her heart, he himself had been molded. Softened, perhaps, deep down at the core… He felt things far too easily now, swayed by emotion despite the harsh façade of stoicism he usually wore.

Externally, a calm and civil man with a healthy cynicism, though on the inside, he was more paranoid than ever before. It baffled him. He held such control, such influence, and everything was going as planned. This whole affair had been the single most accomplished coup he'd ever staged, brilliant in design and technique, flawless, damn near waterproof. There was no conceivable reason for him to feel so utterly helpless in the midst of it all, like he was simply clawing at the bubbles escaping his mouth as he drowned.

And Zelda, his Zelda, she knew him so well. Though it pained him to admit, he knew he'd have well lost himself to the strains of this routine had he not strayed into intimate boundaries with her. She anchored him so strongly now, his mind may simply snap with not for her ability to steady him. Even if she did it on a lie, her support and devotion to him over these past years was unmatched by any he had known. Even among his Gerudo followers, none had been so faithful to him as to sacrifice everything they were for his favor, his contentment.

It hit him then, as he stood there with his rage slipping through his fingers, replaced by a subtle ache of isolation. The disguised Gerudo would glance to Telma's unconscious form, looking over her features and suddenly seeing them as foreign. He had been the fool for thinking her one of his kin. So far removed was she from them, in his desperation, he'd overlooked the clear visage of a Hylian woman, simply stealing the lines of her mother's face. None of his people remained.

_You're a Demon!_ _You will never be my King!_

Her voice echoed in his head with an awful truth, and he winced, turning from her as the gold faded shamefully from his eyes. She was correct though, wasn't she? He was in every sense a demon, a half born abomination, cursed by design to be the ruthless man he was. He'd just as swiftly smashed the soldier's nose for a racist remark, as he had struck Telma, just the same as Krin had. There was no difference there, no righteous defense of his own—simply his whim, let loose under feeble excuses. Had he been born Hylian, would he have been the same, finding some justification for his action as an excuse? It was merely fortunate his people had suffered so, for the correlation to his behaviors. He knew that, deep down, he would be the same were he Gerudo, Hylian or even Zora.

He was a selfish, egocentric and cruel man, with a liar's tongue and an insatiable lust for power that had sucked the life from others to burn as fuel for his own ends.

In that sense, he was little more Gerudo than Telma, for all his pure blood—born of them, rising for them, but if he fought for them so diligently as he claimed, why then did only he remain? Because he had never been their King; he was his own King, only able to steal the kingdoms of others and add them like baubles to his collection, and that was exactly as he liked it.

His gaze ran listlessly over the remains of the table, noting the destruction cause when he hadn't gotten his way. Was he proud of it? A long and silent sigh rolled from his lips, and again, he felt alone. In a world of people, there was truly only one other to him, and the connection they shared was accidental, a byproduct of his carelessness.

Yet, it was the only thing keeping him going. He had no more home to return to. He had now the Kingdom he wanted, and still was not content—holding all the Triforce to solidify it would not lift that burdensome feeling. But he was locked to this path. This was his destiny, his wish, forged by the bloodied hand he'd laid down to claim Power.

That day had doomed him to all the avenues of Power, the rise and fall, and would allow him nothing else.

In a sullen silence he turned from the scene, retreating to the iron door to leave with a lonely creak of it shutting behind him.

He had a wedding to begin planning for.

**A/N:**

**Well, this chapter is probably pretty lackluster, but I've done it over a few days to make it semi legible.**

**I've had the flu, and my mother—whom I work with—came down with it as I was recovering. She's an acute asthmatic, so she couldn't work at all, and it was a struggle keeping her out of hospital. I covered all her shifts at work, plus doing my own, though I wasn't well myself. I have been absolutely dead on my feet, out of energy and not enough sleep besides.**

**I may also be pregnant. Gonna get me a test. So that could be sapping my energy as well, derp.**

**So in short, this chapter may not have come out like I think it did in my head, in if that's the case, my apologies. Poor Ganondorf, though, I just wanna hug him… Self loathing is a bitch. But yay for Telma, hanging in there!**

**Onwards to Glory!**

**PS: I have been aware of the misspelling of Sheikah and Sheik through the story, but its in autospell as 'Shiekah' so when I type it Word corrects it and I'm lazy and don't edit. I fixed them in this chapter I think.**


	22. Memoriam

It felt as if things were changing very quickly, in Zelda's world. Many good things, as well as the looming threats that stalked the shadows, all competing for dominance in her mind; just when her father's murder had shaken her, her fiancé had stirred her heart to heal the wound, and then Rauru arrived to freshly tear it open anew with his grave news. She was pushed and pulled and shunted about in a political, and mystical, tug of war. Everybody around her seemed to be in a panic, flustered and baying for their own places as well, struggling for stability so as not to be left behind.

It was hard to focus on one thing or another now, in the midst of a chaotic whirlwind of change and duty and matters of the heart, every problem rearing its ugly head at once and bailing her up like rabid dogs with her some clueless urchin on the street. She felt small again, unable to live up to what was demanded of her, and it seemed that since the moment the King passed she'd been dealt a daunting hand in a game of chance and poker-faces.

It was a game she did not enjoy.

It was a breathless sort of day, windless and caught in the shimmer of high noon under a clear blue sky, but somehow the sun's warmth did not seem to reach her. The Princess had removed herself from the turmoil, retreating desperately from it, only to find herself within the gardens. It was her haven, her sanctuary, and it was now that she truly could appreciate the value of her mother's roses.

They claimed the dark stone brickwork of the wall behind them, scattered about iron latticework in a verdant green topped by brilliants bursts of crimson. No amount of trimming could work them back now, keen to reach upward to the heavens as they were, untamable. It seemed almost like a ladder to the outside world, a rosey path that hinted to freedom, and Zelda treasured that symbolism. The older she grew; the more she inherited her status, she understood her mother. It seemed all too easy for her to imagine the frailty the late Queen had endured, and the strength it took to last as long as she did.

Sprawled out upon the soft grass without care, crystalline eyes watched the skies, wondering of her parents. Since Sheik had become Regent, he had been busy and taken with other affairs to the point of hardly seeing him through the day. It reminded her sorely of her father's negligence, though she knew how different the me were—painfully, she was aware that while her mother had been sick, it was perhaps not that her father had no time for her. Though he may not have seen her while performing his duties, and while she was bedridden, until the late evenings when they would sit, they never grew bitter with one another.

Zelda had pondered for some time on this, remembering the bitter feelings towards the King at the time. She had always suffered under the notion that her father had ignored his poorly wife, frustrated by her ailments and only tending to her out of decency until she died. He had always seemed too distant from the fact his wife was dying, never speaking of it, or in her opinion, never even seeming aware of the severity of her condition. The Queen, however, was always warm and spoke fondly of her husband. She would never admit to her own weaknesses, excusing herself when coughing wracked her thin form and waving it away with 'don't fuss' and a smile. When her nose bled, the Queen would laugh, embarrassed, and say 'I'm such a bother, look, I've ruined the linens, dear'.

Now that Zelda thought back on it, she could recall her parents never truly acknowledging what was happening. The child Princess seemed to be the only one who knew her mother was going to die, and at the time, she grew cynical for it, unable to understand how the others couldn't see it.

But she understood now.

They were never unaware of it; in fact, they knew very well that the Queen's death would swiftly be upon them. They simply chose not to submit to it, wasting what precious little time they had left with pathos and pre-mourning; to give up and simply say _finis_. Just like their daughter did now, they wore their masks of strength and propriety, putting their weaknesses aside and sustaining brave facades for the people's sake. They staved off their own suffering, in denial of it almost, for the wellbeing of others; even when on their deathbeds, there was simply nothing wrong. They would never admit to it, or let others tell them so. The moment they did, the very instant self pity took hold and fear seized them, would see everything fall to pieces, revealed for the broken and writhing mess of agony it was underneath.

And Zelda knew, as she gazed heavenwards with humble eyes, fondling the small crystal left to her by the King, that their strength was selfless. Like true leaders, her parents had held their stoic detachment to the bitter end; her mother swallowing down death itself for a year longer than any would've expected, and her father then burying his sorrows with her to get on with what was required of him, living for those who relied on him.

It did not mean they didn't feel; that they were cold, or ignorant, or too absorbed by their duties to care. They simply never showed the world their pains, tucking them away and making the best of what they had. When the Queen knew that her condition was going to break her, that she simply couldn't brave it anymore, the King had—ever loyal and protective of her—allowed her a quiet and private death that was as dignified and humble as it ought to be. They had spared their daughter their own heartbreak, and sheltered her from it so masterfully Zelda had thought they were emotionally barren. They must've been, for the King to stand there and smile, speaking fondly of his lost love in front of a room of glossed eyes as if she were a distant memory already, while the broken child cried in her room, unable to be moved.

But no, it was not apathy. It was an unyielding strength that, for all her youthful wisdom, she had never seemed to grasp. She was never alone, never abandoned, as she had thought. She was their everything; so precious to them that they both ended up giving their lives—both in mind and in body—to ensure her wellbeing.

How she felt she had betrayed them, giving in so easily to her own insecurities in turn.

A soft sigh left her icy pink lips as she closed her eyes, resolving to do better. She simply had to; she owed it to everybody, and most of all, herself. She would be strong for those who were weak, brave for those who wear fearful, and dignified for those who had lost face. For the people, she would be their Princess, their Queen, and for herself she would be the Sheikah who would face the coming darkness. She was not alone, she was a part of this world and all its people—the heart of it, and its face.

And that face would smile genuinely at the demons waiting in the shadows, knowing that whatever came would be overcome.

Her toes curled and the short grass tickled them, drawing her out of her reverie. Zelda felt her gaze wander this place again with fresh eyes, and settled upon the marble bench a few feet from where she lay. A tiny smile took her delicate features in warmth, as she saw before her the phantom apparitions of her memory.

_There, _she though fondly, _was where Mother would hum my lullaby…_her head turned to the other side, glancing off to the entrance of the hedge maze, and across her mind flashed the image of Talleday. _And there, the last I saw of him…upturned nose, with that discouraging frown on his face…_

"And that ridiculous moustache." She giggled to herself, a grin spreading across her cheeks as she gingerly tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

Blinking lazily, she mused to herself, rocking the crystal lightly in her outstretched palm. "What was I doing that time… Oh yes, the butterfly…" Another soft laugh lilted sweetly through the air. "And then next I looked up and Sheik was there, as if he had been the butterfly all along, watching me." She chimed happily to herself, as if somehow, her mother could hear her happy memories in this place.

"Good Gods, I was a handful…" She conceded, crossing her legs with a bounce of her knee, ruffling the skirts of her dress as she rested her forearm over her eyes. "Skipping my lessons and running off all the time. They would have worried for me badly… I don't blame Talleday for being sour with me; he must've been close to heart failure with the amount of times he lost me."

Her skin felt warm against the bridge of her nose, the light flutter of her lashes tickling beneath it as she took a break from the glaring blue above. "And my tutors… especially Kerrigan, twitchy old bookworm he was… I broke his abacus, didn't I?" She cackled to herself mischievously. "And when he was picking up all the beads, I snuck away, and he probably ran through the halls, tearing his hair out… I got away from everybody, not even the sentries could spot me…"

_Everybody, _she thought, curious, _but Sheik…And I never did figure out how he seems to know exactly where I am._

Her arm shifted to rest on her forehead then, and the Princess peered conspiratorially at the sky, lips pursed in inquiry. She couldn't help but wonder if, in his newly filled schedule, he was as diligent and watchful as he had been then. Surely he'd be distracted; accosted by some ancient councilman wanting approval for something, or a scholar that needed something signed, or even in the study filing through papers alone. Were she to venture out and, say, talk a stroll in the fields… maybe as far as Lake Hylia… how long would it take him to notice?

She sat up slowly, slumping in a casual manner, and held the crystal within her lap, studying the shimmer of it in the sun. They each had one of them, though they hadn't used them nearly as much as she'd expected. In all honesty, she had lost track of him yesterday. Zelda had seen to Rauru, while her fiancé sent off Badon's men and then proposed the marriage to council. When she had gone in to the chambers, Shad had talked with her some and discussed some ideas, though by that point the council had dispersed—apparently, their meeting was interrupted, and Sheik had to adjourn for some other reason.

She hadn't seen him since.

Turning the strange stone over in her fingers, Zelda decided it was time to really test this form of communication, and raising it close to her lips, she focused upon her fiancé's image mentally. After a moment, it began to glow, as if sensing her intentions and responding instantly. With a furrow of her brows, she began softly, tentative and curious.

"…Sheik? Can you hear me?"

Zelda felt a little foolish, speaking to a stone and expecting it to talk back—how exactly her father had come up with this ridiculous idea was beyond her, but still, it was rather handy. She waited, doubtful, and when she found no response, drew it close to her ear, listening. When finally a voice drifted from the crystal with a light tremble of the stone, the volume was as if her were right beside her, and it made her jump with a slight squeak of surprise, almost dropping it in the process.

"What is it? I'm busy, Zelda." Came the rich, deep tone of her lover, scathing and impatient.

Not the reaction she had hoped for, and with a slight wince, she began again more shyly. "Oh… well… Sorry, I just… erm…" She stumbled over her words at first, but then, clearing her throat, grew more confident. She frowned at the stone, as if it would also carry her expression. "I just wanted to talk with you. We got mixed about yesterday, and didn't end up seeing each other, and I haven't seen you this morning either."

She was greeted with a pause, and when she caught the muted sound of a groan, Zelda squinted at the stone.

"…Like I said. I've been busy." He replied, dismissive. "I'll see you tonight, I assure you. I trust you can wait until then?" He spoke quickly, evasively, and it sounded strained to Zelda's ears.

Her grip tightened around the odd crystal, squeezing it as if it would convey a warning to him, as immediately, her free hand began picking at the lilac skirts about her lap, pinching the soft fabric. Her displeasure was quick to show through.

"At least tell me what you're busy with!" She chastised, glaring at the stone. "Do you even know where I am or what I've been up to? I could be in Lake Hylia. You wouldn't even know, and then I might be kidnapped." She snapped childishly, annoyed with him, though pleased to her his voice—if she baited an argument, at least he'd keep talking with her.

"Don't be difficult." He sighed, the usual fire of his temper absent. "I'm… doing something important that will keep me for the rest of the day. We can update each other later." There was a pause, and for a moment, Zelda thought she heard the wind seeping through. "…You're in your Mother's Garden, alright? Return there after you take your meal, and I'll meet you."

The Princess' delicate brows furrowed as she listened closely. Wind. She definitely heard it, the distant moaning whistle of a fast paced gale. Glancing up at the sky again, her bemused frown grew. A cloudless sky stared back at her, flawless blue, and not a lick of wind; not even the barest whisper of it. He certainly wasn't in the castle, nor anywhere local. Quizzical and somewhat cautious, she brought the crystal close to her lips once more.

"…Where exactly are you…?" She asked, softening her tone though her question was firm. "I can hear high winds… You aren't here…" Zelda found herself focused upon a rose, squinting at it as if it were a puzzle. "…How do you know where I am if you're miles away and why are you so far out in the first place…?"

Silence answered her, and though she waited, nothing came. Just when she assumed he'd put the crystal away, cutting their conversation short in annoyance, she heard the whip of the winds again, and knew he was still there. "Sheik…?" She called softly, a tone of hurt in her voice as she let her gaze wander the roses, willing his voice to come.

"Zelda." The deep voice purred, as if apologetic for his previous agitation. "…I know where you are because I can feel you there. I've attuned myself to the signature of your spirit. You of all people should know how I'd hate to lose my greatest treasure."

The Princess smiled, seemingly placated by his words, and the sentiment in them. She was blissfully unaware of the fact that he referred to her piece of the holy relic. However, in truth, Ganondorf was beginning to doubt that himself—true enough, that was what he meant, but it was no longer a complete lie. Zelda herself had become quite precious to him also, though he was loathe to admit it out loud.

"I'm just attending to a… strange feeling of mine." He offered quietly, his voice almost lost to the wind. "If you must know, I've journeyed to the West." He sighed, somewhat defeated. Another pause came, and then he added—for the sake of his guise—"Given that this place was the haunt of the King of Evil, I thought a routine check wouldn't hurt. After all, if monsters began to stir noticeably, this may well be were they would appear first." His lie came through smoothly, apparently rehearsed for if and when she questioned him upon his return.

The Princess stiffened some with urgency, wanting to tell him everything she'd been thinking about and update him on her meeting with Rauru, but was unsure if she should right at this moment—he seemed as if he had a lot on is mind as well, and it worried her. She knew how stressful it must be for him to keep everything going smoothly, and he did have to face the council alone, looking upon their withered faces and feeling their scrutinizing eyes as he revealed his plans to marry their sovereign. He had probably wondered were she was; why she left him to do it himself, without her support.

Hiking up her skirts so that the lace hems sat teasingly upon her knees, soft against her stockings, she let her legs bask in the sunlight—the warmth was comforting, if she concentrated on it. Reluctantly, she drew a short breath and thought about how to put it to him softly.

"Well, your intuition must be very keen… Better than mine it seems." She sighed, rueful as she picked at the taut sheer fabric, watching it snap back to her knee. "You know how I haven't had any visions for some time now… Maybe that's why I was so surprised, but the reason I missed our meeting yesterday was actually because I had one of my own to attend to."

"…What?" It came suddenly, as if he was appalled by the fact he had not been notified of this. "Where? …With who?" He growled, holding a paranoid tone that Zelda mistook for jealousy.

Zelda smirked cynically, fleeting as it turned into a regretful grimace—he was never fond of sharing her. "…A sage came calling yesterday, can you believe it?" She breathed, unenthusiastic about the whole affair. "It was an honour to meet the esteemed Sage of Light, sure, but… well, maybe it would've been better if I had met him under better terms. The whole meeting came off a little awkward, I think…" She pulled a face to herself, lips drawing thin. "To be honest, I think he left a little disappointed, even though he supported my decisions."

She had expected one of his pessimistic chuckles, and maybe some sort of joke about how fat Rauru must've gotten since Sheik saw him last, or any sort of comment to suggest they had once been close allies. Instead, she was met with a tense silence again, and when still he didn't speak after a good few moments, Zelda had to check if he had heard her.

"Sheik? Are you okay? Nothing happened over there, did it?" Perhaps he had found the monsters to confirm evil's presence in the land once more.

He seemed to drift back to her then, his voice quieter than before; weaker. She didn't know whether it was a fault in the stone, with their distance, or simply how he spoke.

"…The Sages have discovered him missing, then…" Came his odd reply, distant.

"Yes… It would seem so." She conceded softly, crystalline eyes falling to her lap sullenly. "Rauru said he's been free for some time, and though they suspected the seal weakening, they only just recently confirmed that the Evil King had escaped. He seemed concerned, and apparently, they sensed the Evil power here, in the castle."

Another pause came, and far into the Desert Mesas, Ganondorf's hands were shaking. Panic had seized him fiercely when she had said the damned Sage's name, but the rest had his muscles over-tensed to the point of near cramping, cold flushes upon his brow and a shiver through his spine. But even through this, his mind was keen, and quickly he grew aware of something interesting.

If a sage had visited her, knew of his escape, and had located his presence within the castle, how was it then that he had not been investigated? Why also was Zelda's faith in him unchanged? She was still referring to him a Sheik, after all, that was definitely a good sign of his cover remaining intact. Slowly, he would rumble through the stone again, regaining some strength to his voice.

"What did you tell him? Did you say anything about Link?" _…And more importantly, _he thought, _did you mention his name—no, you couldn't have. It wouldn't make sense for the Sages to ignore such an accusation as that._

Zelda confirmed this for him quickly. "I explained to him that we were aware of the King of Evil's influence, but that we had discovered he acted through a proxy. I briefly explained about my father murder, and that you apprehended him, though he escaped…" She frowned some, tugging at the grass between her bare feet. "I didn't go into much detail, really, just a basic overview to settle his concern. He asked after you, and I told him a bit about you and I, how we met, and all that…"

He interrupted her, seeming jittery. "Gods, Zelda, you didn't tell him everything?" If anybody could see through his guise in a second it was the Sage of Light, or heaven forbid, the Sage of Shadow—were it to get back to Impa that there was an imposter on the loose, he would a have a snowball's chance in hell of lying through it.

But the Princess, unaware of these crucial matters, laughed it off with a wave of her hand, simply thinking him a stickler for privacy. "I didn't go into every gorey detail! He was a bit unsure at first, but then he must've remembered you when I mentioned your family. Rauru seemed a bit impressed—what did he say? Oh, yes, Sheik coming back for a second helping of the Evil King, or some such. I told him of my training, so he knows I'm prepared, at least."

Ganondorf, by this point, was on the verge of having an aneurism in his anxiety. What she was saying didn't seem to add up, and it unnerved him—everything was fine, peachy keen if her casually chipper recount was anything to go by, but the sheer amount of danger he'd been blissfully unaware of, the string of hair-raisingly near misses, were beginning to hit him now. He cursed himself mentally for not expecting it. He should've known it was only a matter of time before one of the glaringly black and white Sages stopped by his cage to check his misery levels.

Remembered him… Told Rauru about the family… Second coming of Sheik… Zelda's training…

He ran over everything she'd said in his mind, turning it on every angle he could think of—even the absurd—to decipher what had transgressed in actuality. Dissecting it carefully, he mapped the patterns of his lies, piecing together a rough view of the story from an external perspective.

…_Impa trained Zelda in the arts of Shadow in the last age, though Zelda is unaware of herself being Sheik's alter ego. Rauru would know of that incarnation of Sheik, and remember the time spent in my employ…Surely that's what he meant by second helping._

Swiftly, by way of elimination, he arrived at an amusing realization—He was safe due to a miscommunication. When Zelda told the Sage about Sheik, it must've been ambiguous enough that the old warden of Light had thought it some kind of metaphor, as if Zelda spoke of that personality as separate from herself; much like a toddler speaking in third person.

Testing the waters of his theory, he prompted her gently. "…It is… good to hear him speak of me so well. You said he approved you decisions? I take it you told him of the Master Sword's… migration?" He listened carefully, tracing every tone and waver in her voice.

"Yes, I did. He mentioned that I should be careful, and from there, he was… a little cryptic actually." Zelda admitted nervously, the sting of possible judgment looming over her. "He mentioned that I was 'gambling' with fate, and not to feel like our victory is assured. He also mentioned, though, that they have felt the presence of Courage out in the world as well." She couldn't help the lightly hopeful smile that came. "Isn't that good news? A Hero is stirring somewhere out there. Things aren't looking so hopeless after all."

That time, she was granted the cynical chuckle that was so familiar to her ears. "Yes, Zelda, that's very good news." He offered, good humor returning to him as his spirits seemed to lift some. "He has a very potent point, though Zelda. You must never get overly cocky, even when it seems you've got the upper hand…"

And silently, the Gerudo was taking the Sage's advice on board. He had been growing negligent since being crowned, and though he hadn't expected it, he had let his new power and influences go to his head. He supposed it was simply his way of flexing his new freedom, making the first breaks away from the stifled shell he'd suffered in for so long now, but it was wearing dangerously thin—already, he'd begun to cause new whispers of himself around the castle, speaking of his sleepless nights and the rough hand he'd taken to the soldiers.

Not to mention his desperate urges to rid himself of the guise, lately, but that was all part of it he supposed. It was little wonder, after that episode with Telma had thrown into sharp relief how far he'd fallen from the Gerudo King he once was, that he'd scurried quickly off to his homeland to chase the ghosts of the past. It was a shallow and lonesome thing, the ruins to be found where the fortress once stood proudly, but just retracing the steps he'd taken so many times before lent him some solace. He found himself caught in memories; able to see vividly cast against the sands the specters of the past, he let his hair be crimson and the gold of his eyes shine.

It was a small token of refreshment, like a breath of fresh air, as he suffocated behind the mask of a Sheikah. In a strange twist, he found a pang of true empathy for Zelda's struggles in her youth, fighting to remain true to herself in a world that demanded a façade from her.

Though neither realized it, they were both entranced by memoriam this day, wandering the thin line that divided them from their masks.

"The King of Evil is a crafty one, I'm sure." Zelda laughed, feeling strangely at peace having talked to her increasingly estranged lover.

"You have no idea." He replied, a smug grin going unseen.

The Princess smiled lovingly and shyly picked at the grass again, collecting a neat bundle of it in her palm, idle. Her legs were warmed and she could feel the sun upon her shoulder now, enveloping her and mimicking the warmth of an embrace. She loved these gardens, more than she'd ever be able to put into words, and she knew at this moment that she'd spend a great deal of her time here, caring for them like her mother before her. It was the jewel the Late queen had left behind, and somehow Zelda felt as if these roses had always been hers, planted by her mother to bring her daughter comfort when she could no longer give it herself.

Her eyes ran over the crystal again, and she reminded herself that her father had done much the same, leaving her gifts to sustain her when he couldn't—it was simply a shame she didn't receive them until his death. Despite what she'd said to Sir Shadrian, she hadn't yet touched the baton the King had left her, and suddenly she was caught wondering why.

"Sheik," She began softly, whimsical and affectionate, "Do you think its true what they say about flowers responding well to music played for them?"

To her surprise, he seemed to genuinely consider her question, though he gave a sad sort of answer. "I wouldn't know, Zelda. Truth be told… I've not spent much time in gardens. The area I grew up in was…" He paused, and though Zelda wouldn't see it, he cast a golden gaze over his barren home. "…Not well suited to flowers."

The Princess never lost her smile, and as he spoke, she pushed herself to stand, skirts falling back about her ankles with a light sway. Softly her feet padded over the grass until she stood beside the main rose bush, letting her fingers brush the petals of a flower not yet fully bloomed. She studied it fondly, as if seeing its potential, despite the many others that eclipsed it already.

"…Well, even so… I'd like to find out." She mused into the stone, thinking on it. "I'm going to learn how to conduct with the baton my father left me. I'll have a symphony played for my mother's roses, and in some sense… My parents will be together again. They'll grow bigger and fuller than ever before, I'm sure of it, and when we marry I'll have the most beautiful bouquet in all the land."

Ganondorf held no real care for her sentiment about her parents, or whether she had a bouquet of roses, or even her taking up conducting as a hobby. All of those things were inconsequential to him alongside the clarity of the words, 'when we marry'. She said them with such gentle care, as if it were a match made by the Gods themselves, and in lieu of all that had happened, he was beginning to entertain the notion that she was correct. Perhaps they did have the Gods' blessing to wed, having avoided—to miraculous points—being ripped apart thus far. It seemed any hurdle that appeared was swiftly jumped, sometimes effortlessly, and other times they were hardly even aware of any obstacles at all, passing them with ease.

It was as if the entire world parted for them as they walked ever closer to the wedding aisle, and the Sage's words rang true—They gambled against the cycle of fate, and it seemed they held a winning hand.

"Zelda… I've swept this desert from the mesas to the valley, and there isn't a sign of life anywhere." He offered vaguely, sounding somewhat eased of the previous burden he carried.

"No signs of the King of Evil, then?" Zelda asked, relieved.

"…I don't think he'll be bothering us any time soon, no." He said truthfully, a wry tone to his rich timbre.

The Princess beamed brightly, letting her hand fall away from the rosebud, and turned to pad toward the marble bench, a soft bounce to her golden locks. "So, you'll be coming back early?" She pried hopefully, a delicate brow rising in question.

"I'm already here." Came his reply, though not from the stone.

Zelda blinked, looking dumbly at it in her palm before spinning to look, her skirts catching air with a light twirl. Crystalline eyes shot upwards to see him there, standing upon the dark stone of the wall above her, strong arms folded neatly over his chest. Short cropped silver hair glinted in the sun to become a platinum glowing white, and the shimmer of his crimson eyes held a naturalistic hint of gold that, for once, she welcomed. He stood tall and proud, the clearly defined musculature of his form giving off an air of control and power, as if he was born to guard this place, and her within it. A slight smirk caught the corner of his mouth with an upward tick of his brow, and it was clear he still enjoyed sneaking up on her.

Though this time, the Princess didn't squeak in shock, or protest—she simply smiled up at him, letting her hand fall to her side, crystal dangling from her slender fingers by its string, spinning gently. Fluttering beside him, she glimpsed the ghostly memory of the swallowtail butterfly, when he'd stood upon that wall last in the very same pose, as if in a strange way he belonged there; watching over her, just as she belonged here in the Gardens below.

"Welcome home."

**A/N:**

**Short one, but I'm more alert today, at least. Ganondorf always creeps me out with how dangerously attached he seems to get, given enough time.**

**Had today off, went to go see my uncle and then knocked this chapter out.**

**Now I've refocused upon where Ganondorf and Zelda stand in their ever evolving relationship, next chapter, I can go check on Link.**

**I feel so horrible, I've just ignored him. Besides which, I miss Ashei.**

**And this chapter has finally allowed me to wrap up the character development behind Zelda's parents, which I was always a little nervous of since it tied in with hers so closely. But I think I've spaced it out neatly enough. It feels more genuine this way, because sometimes, you really do need to grow up before you appreciate the things your parents did for you, even if as a child you didn't understand it.**

**They did the best job they knew how to do, and that's worth some credit. Everybody give it up for your parents!**

**Wooo!**

**Onwards to Glory.**


	23. Passing the Torch

Far from Castle Town, high up in the alpine northwest from Hyrule Proper, the world was a white washed and lonely place, devoid of any signs of civilization or mercy and left slumbering under the chilled blanket of snow. An eerie silence pervaded the air here, still as it was like the calm before a raging storm—indeed, violent blizzards could arise as quickly as the sandstorms of its desert counterpart to the south.

It was little wonder that the West was a world unexplored, in many facets. Be it the sandy dunes of a sun scorched hell, or the frozen wastes and slim oxygen of the peaks, the winds of the West were as deadly as they were unpredictable; two pinnacles of extreme climate, fueling the other's penchant for death.

What had once been a somewhat stable symbiosis between the two domains, now only a tense war of hostility remained. The Gerudo Valley of old, once home to a waterfall of pristine and crystal clarity, was now as barren and dry as the wasteland beyond it, starved of the mountain's gift as a cold snap claimed the peaks and centuries later, still did not relent. The rivers of mercy had shifted, spitefully, to trickle only through the north and instead breath new life into the Zora population, providing them a new home while condemning the people of the sands.

Many legends would tell of the Gods diverting the water's course, denying the Gerudo of the essence of life, in response to the Great Cataclysm. This was the birth of the mighty Snowpeak Mountains, the breath of spring sacrificed in divine punishment, and left ever after as barren as the desert itself so that none may ever make their homes in either region.

But some brave, or foolhardy, people did dare to challenge the peaks, reclaim them, and out of the few who had attempted it, one woman remained to draw strength from this harsh corner of the world, allowing it to forge her as it had her father.

And now, for the first time, she returned with a guest as brave and foolhardy as herself.

The sound of boots crunching deep into the snow followed Link and Ashei as they made their steady climb, making slow progress as the rancher struggled through the frost. Though at first he'd been keen to rid himself of Telma's clothing once the pair had passed through the rocky outcroppings of the Zora's territory, he'd quickly redonned them over the thermal skive gifted to him by the warrior—much to his chagrin, he was still technically cross dressing, though when the bitter wind-chill seeped across his skin, the rancher was quick to ignore that fact. He had, however, chosen to wear the clothes askew, oddly wrapped about his form, to regain some unisexuality in appearance where he could.

But the farther into the white mists they ventured, the more foolish he felt for such sensitivities. They were alone within this place, not another soul for miles bearing the shape of men to judge him, or more pointedly, offer any help to them. There was no abode to stop by and seek shelter from, no roads to follow, not even a path to glean some hint from; only glaring white to confuse the senses and make all appear as one. Without Ashei to guide him, Link wondered at how quickly he might find himself lost beyond salvation, even his inborn sense of bearing tossed about in this place.

He huddled into himself, holding his arms close to his chest to keep heat as he moved. He could no longer feel his nose upon is face, numbed by the cold and cheeks burning to war with nature. The light brush of blonde bangs that grazed his forehead went undetected in the lack of sensation, though steely eyes wandered with awe. Never had he imagined such a place existed—even when forging the imagery in his head by Ashei's descriptions, he could never have come to this, in all its finite detail. Everything here was foreign to him, so different from the fields or the forests or the town, so vast it seemed hopeless to continue though in truth, he didn't know how far they'd journeyed.

His eyes lifted skyward, and saw none of it, hidden as it was behind a thick breath of fog as it snaked about the peaks, deathly cold claws to grip them. No sun to judge time by, or position. All landmarks lost to a blanket of white, as far as his untrained eye could see. Even his breath, rolling hot from his lips, was lost to it.

And yet Ashei marched on, undeterred and focused, seemingly knowing exactly which direction was their heading. She moved with ease, barely breaking the surface tension of the frost while Link's own boots sunk deep, freezing his feet within them as the moisture seeped through.

Curious, and somewhat unnerved by the silence in this place, Link chanced conversation; eyes drifting over the flecks of white dotting her raven hair.

"Ashei, H-how f-f-far…?" He chattered, unable to control his jaw as it rebelled within the cold, his voice cracked. "I c-can't see anything in this w-weather…"

From five feet ahead of him and clearly taking her time for the boy's sake, Ashei shook her head, sending him a pitying smirk over her shoulder. "It's not long now. We've only just gotten through Yeta's Pass…" She offered smoothly, bereft of the chattering teeth Link suffered. "Suck it up, Princess; you'll be alright once we get a fire going back at the hut, yeah?"

Link frowned some, grimacing at the nickname Ashei had picked for him since he'd started shivering. It had begun as a teasing about the cross dressing, and then drifted to him acting like a woman and to tough it out. After some banter—the Rancher's wit seemingly dimmed by the chill—it had come to the point of him 'shivering like a bloody Princess in a drafty room'.

The moniker had stuck.

Ashei came to a stop, taking a moment to inspect a lonely pine briefly, touching her hand to an old carving in its bark before brushing the snow from her furred shawl. She glanced back at him, raising an arm to point upwards to one of the ridges above them. Her fingers clicked to draw attention. "Here, look. See that?"

The Rancher slowed his steps as he caught up to her, his gaze following the direction of her arm sharply. High upon a plateau, mists lifted just enough to see the state of disrepair, sat a strange building—something of a mansion, crossed with a fort. The ornate nature of the windows and some of the masonry suggested a wealthy baron of some description had once resided there, though the dilapidated parapets and oddly threatening murder holes hinted dangerously as to the military use of the structure as well. That aside, it had clearly been abandoned for some time.

Brows furrowed, Link found himself wondering how he'd not seen the imposing structure before having attention called to it, and silently chastised himself for his lack of awareness.

"That—" Ashei began, dark eyes focused upon the looming tower of it, "—is just about the only real landmark out here that you can see, provided you've got the altitude. If at any point we get separated up here, you head for higher ground, find it, and then get yourself there quickly and take shelter."

Shivering against the cold—opportunistically seeping in now that he'd stopped—Link nodded slowly, taking in the details of the building. He seized up suddenly, rolling his shoulders as it built up in the back of his nose, and then let loose a sneeze that made Ashei flinch. He felt his head turned, cheek squashed by her gloved hand as she was quick push his face away with an indignant frown.

"Whoa, hey! Don't you spray me, yeah? I'll smack you!" She warned, eyeing him pointedly, her body angled back and away from him.

Link shuddered, lending an audible chatter as he made his discomfort known, and stepping back to avoid her hand began to furiously rub his arms, glaring at her. "Ok-k-kay…! Sorry! It's just… s-so c-c-cold…" He sulked briefly, frowning down at his feet as he shuffled them. "…That p-place up there, what… what is it?" His eyes rose again to the warrior, curious under a raised brow. "It looks s-so old…"

Ashei watched his pitiful display with pursed lips, peering at him with a scrutinizing gaze that still carried her warning of not being sneezed upon, before a click of her tongue saw her offer an answer. "It's called Snowpeak Ruins… Or as my Father used to call it, the Manor. I've been up there a couple of times myself, as a kid… It's a strange place."

She seemed to be caught in thought as she turned from him, glancing up to the bleak looking place. "It's almost like it was forgotten, or fled from. All the furnishings were left there, originally, and I've counted over a hundred portraits, though the weather's gotten in over the years and ruined a lot of it…" She mused, seemingly distracted for the moment—Link didn't mind the chance to catch his breath from the journey, either way.

"It's a creepy looking old p-place…" The boy conceded thoughtfully, sparing her an odd and skeptical look. "…It's not infested with monsters, by any chance…? You know, since its sh-shelter if I get lost…" He pried sarcastically; somewhat accusatory. Knowing Ashei's odd humor, he didn't really trust the chances of it being particularly safe to take refuge in, besides being out of the elements. He didn't fancy the idea that she might pull a prank somewhere along the line and leave him behind so that he had to go up there, unarmed, and receive a bit of a shock for her amusement, either.

Ashei's gaze snapped back to him with a cold look, sharp. "…You trying to suggest something about my advice, Princess?" She spat, holding back her offense until it was confirmed.

Link hummed evasively, avoiding her eyes. "…Just making sure…" He muttered quietly, having gained more of a feel for her temper triggers. His fingers wiggled awkwardly on his leather clad arms a moment, before he shifted the subject some. "So, uh… I d-didn't know anybody settled here…? Why does it look like it was b-built to withstand attack?"

It seemed to do the trick, as the woman settled her belligerent stance into a casual shrug, crossing her arms. "Could be any number of reasons, I suppose… As far as I know, it was originally built to house a convoy of Royal Mapmakers at the turn of the last century, accompanied by a famous knight, a few soldiers, and some brother to a King back then. I've seen a painting of the knight and the old bloke drawing up the borders… found a few old drafts of his maps, even…"

She chuckled some as she glanced down; kicking the snow with the tip of her boot and watching it break apart. "Well, my old man did, anyway. It was how he got such a good lay of the land, here. He filled in the gaps with exploring himself." She seemed to fall silent then, her lips drawing thin as she dismissed some sort of memory, shaking her head.

"Anyway, enough chatting like old women…" The warrior turned, cocking her head and implying her follow that way as she began trudging through the snow once more. "We're losing daylight, yeah?"

Link opened his mouth to speak, words catching in his throat as if they were frozen there, as his intrigue was piqued. He wanted to know more, now that she'd begun—hell, swordless or not, he wanted to be up there in the Ruins, exploring every room and detail to uncover treasures of the past. He'd always been fascinated with how other people lived, and how things changed over time. It made him feel grounded in his own life, well prepared and able to accomplish more with borrowed knowledge. As a child, he'd enjoyed puzzles, little tests of his ingenuity and wit, and as he'd grown Link found that pleasure extended into the world around him.

It was perhaps the only thing he ever took a liking to about his days as a sell-sword and bounty hunter; he could travel the world and discover hidden things along the way, while enjoying the mental challenge of outwitting his targets. People were like puzzles to him, especially those of criminal intent, and he did like to decipher them.

But more than that, he took solace in the fact that when he had solved those puzzles, the world was slightly better for it.

With a defeated sigh he hung his head, willing his damp feet to follow after her. "…I can't even _see_ any d-daylight…" He grumbled, low enough that she wouldn't hear—he really didn't want that smack.

Within the hour, the two had scaled the steep face of the mountain Ashei called home, and upon the high ridge where the humble abode sat neatly tucked, a mere glace would lend a striking view of the white capped peaks, unimpeded by the poor visibility of low lying mists. Built into a natural cave, the sturdy pine logs made up the outward face of a cabin, half hidden in the thick snow and barricaded by a few trees. A wreath of hawk feathers hung upon the front door, tacked into the wood among carved patterns with a rustic symbolism—this was the den of a hunter.

It was a welcome relief as that door shut to the world behind them, wind kept at bay and a rug beneath their sodden boots. Removing extra layers to hang them upon a coat-rack built of antlers, the warm reds and earthy tones of the wood around them seemed to chase the chill away, and Link spared no time settling in as he collapsed back into a chase lounge; promptly wrapping himself in the furs Ashei provided.

Her hut was made of one room, the circular shaping of the stone alcove providing much of the space. In the center of it was an open hearth, the ceiling above it bearing a slim chimney of sorts, forged by a round opening of brickwork over which a hide was stretched loosely. The warrior had quickly taken to lighting it, making use of precious dry wood supplies she kept within the abode, stacked neatly against the wall. It was dimly lit by the light filtering through the opening in the ceiling, her windows closed and protected by wood coverings, and so the sparks of striking flint illuminated their surrounds with fleeting flashes.

The seat Link had chosen was by no means stylish or particularly comfortable—a wooden framed chase sofa improvised by hide and pelt, stiff with little give, but after the journey the boy hardly noticed it. He was still regaining his strength from his imprisonment, truthfully, given little respite in between escaping and fleeing before crossing the north fields and finally, traversing these peaks. It was nice to sit down.

Steely eyes wandered over the morbid trophies of death strewn about the logged walls; heads of wildlife killed and mounted, antlers, claws… the various furs still holding the vague shape of what they once were. He grimaced lightly at what looked suspiciously like a fox to him, though it had multiple tails and its pelt was of a golden hue.

_I don't even want to know what that one was, _he mused internally, finding the thought off putting.

Another strike of flint drew his eye back to Ashei, kneeling upon the clay floor and tending to the hearth, and idly Link found himself wondering about her clothing as well—The shawl she wore was part of a set, with the head of a Yeti to protect her face, though she'd not needed it. It was obvious that the facial features of the mask were the work of sewing, but the gruesome inkling that in its place a face, after which the design was modeled, had really been there tickled his spine.

"Ashei…" He started reluctantly, running a hand through his blonde hair nervously, "…Did you really kill a Yeti?"

The woman stopped to send him a strange look, blinking, and shrugged it off evasively. "I've never even seen a bloody Yeti, you idiot. They probably aren't even real, yeah? Just some story to scare the Zora kids from venturing too far out here…" She scoffed, leaning low to blow upon the embers as the first wisps of smoke began to rise.

Link breathed a small sigh of relief, though he wasn't sure exactly why—perhaps it was just the look of it. Though it wasn't real, and held no eyes, something about the Yeti face seemed to scream out sentience; murder, rather than a successful hunt. Shaking his head lightly, he rid himself of the thought, tugging the furred blanket tighter about him to banish the lingering chill.

A tiny flame fluttered to life for Ashei's efforts, and with a nod of victory, she climbed to her feet again, brushing off her knees. "Alright, fire is going. How does pumpkin soup sound to you?" She offered with the hint of a smile, something uncharacteristically warm about the blunt woman in that moment.

The Rancher brightened then at the mention of food, a lopsided an eager grin forming quickly, pointed ears twitching. "That sounds great!" Something to stifle his growling belly and warm his soul—humble pumpkin soup, even plain, would be the highlight of his day.

"Well, good, because it's that or nothing." She smirked, taking a moment to remove her leather gloves and roll up the sleeves of her grey skive, revealing to Link—for the first time, he realized—her bare hands.

They were dainty, with thin tapering wrists and slender digits, ladylike. It surprised him. Not that he'd expected her hands to be manly, or rather, he hadn't truly thought about it; seeing them now though, he was reminded of Malinna's hands.

Hands he'd worked to keep as soft and dainty as they should be, sparing them of any unnecessary labors he could.

But Link was also keenly aware that Ashei's hands were tempered for the sword, and though they may hold the appearance of a maiden's grip, the skin would be hardened—calloused, like his own. In a strange way, it was only then it struck him that despite her temper, her strength and tenacity, the proud warrior before him was also just a young woman with a hard living, alone out here in the icy wilderness. She had nobody helping her survive out here; she didn't rely on anyone. Looking around, the Rancher was well aware that she was self sufficient and found it easy to live here, while others would struggle and flounder.

Her hands, to Link's curious eye, were like a symbol of the frailty she'd had to overcome, and the femininity she'd sacrificed to survival.

_Malinna…_His mind turned quietly to his step sister, an ache in his gut for the situation he'd inadvertently left her in. He didn't want her to end up like Ashei, despite his great respect for the warrior. It wasn't that the boy pitied Ashei in any sense, far from it—he was constantly impressed by her—but Malinna was a soft and gentle person inside. She was strong, and had endured her fair she, but she deserved no more pain. She deserved to keep her hands as soft as they were, having lost much of it already, her palms dry from days working the ranch alongside him.

Malinna deserved the hands of a Lady, of a wife and mother; not a laborer and certainly never a warrior. Every woman did.

"Why are you so quiet all the time? Men ought to be boisterous, and full of life, yeah?" Came the voice of his host, snapping him from his thoughts.

Link blinked to refocus his gaze upon her face, noticing now that she stood at a wooden counter of what appeared to be a makeshift kitchen, a few pots hanging from a string above it, cutting up a gourd shaped pumpkin. With his train of thought, for just a moment, he saw his sister imposed upon her. As he settled back though, a small smile spreading across his handsome features, a wry little laugh escaped him.

"…Sorry, I got distracted…" He offered, letting the fur settle about his lap as the growing warmth of the fire reached him. "You know, you almost like a housewife, right now."

It was a careless musing on his part, greeted by the knife pointed in his direction over the warrior's shoulder with a glare.

"Watch it. You have to sleep at some point, Princess." She hissed. "You'll wake up without eyebrows, I swear to the Gods."

Link couldn't help himself, courageous as he was. "Is that what happened to you?" He laughed.

"Do you want this damn soup or not?"

His mirth instantly disappeared, replaced by some alarm. "…Yes, please…" He replied meekly, like a scolded child, a sent downcast gaze upon twiddling thumbs.

With a grunt, Ashei turned back to the task at hand, chopping a bit more roughly now. After a moment of silence, allowing the tension to settle, she called over again as she bent down to fetch a pot from her cupboard.

"You're a cocky son of a bitch when the mood strikes you." She mused cynically, flashing him a glance as she set the pot upon the counter with a clang. "Still, there's hope for you yet… I take it you already know how to chop firewood and the like. I'll teach you how to track over the next week or so, take you for some hikes so you get a good feel for this place… Within a month, you may make for a decent mountaineer."

Link's eyes widened, his head snapping up with a look of bemused shock. "A Month?" He spluttered, unable to wrap his head around the fact she expected him to stay here. "I can't stay here that long! What about taking the rivers down to the forests? Or Malinna? …What about Princess Zelda, and Gods only know what Sheik will do in the meantime!" His head shook, eyes closing for a moment as he dismissed the suggestion entirely. "We can't just leave everything as it is and wait until it suits us to move… we have to do something now…"

"I never said we'd just forget everything that's happened. I'm the one who dragged you out of that cell so we'd have a decent shot at him in the first place!" She shot back, a serious tone in her voice as she frowned over at him, pulling down a bottle of water from a shelf above her. "But seriously, did you think we could just come here, get a few weapons and go rushing back into the castle, pointing fingers and waving swords? You know that bastard's as good as bloody King, now, he'd have us all drawn and quartered, yeah? It'll take a month at least before its even safe for us to get to the forest without being captured!"

She turned to him with a hand on her hip, setting the bottle down forcefully with a tap upon the wood, stern. "You're the most wanted man in Hyrule, and by now, they've probably pegged me as a suspect for helping you, plus they already have Telma. We can hardly afford to be seen in the Proper, let alone wander about aimlessly while the heat is on us looking for some clue as to what this glowy business with you is, or what it means. It was lucky enough we weren't spotted coming up here!"

"I know that!" He snapped, running his hands tiredly over his face. "I'm a fugitive, I get it; any travel is risky. Even so, I can't help but feel like I'm missing something important… and if I stay out here in hiding, we're just going to be wasting time and doing what _he_ expects us to…"

A long sigh rolled from his lips as his hands fell into his lap, and he allowed his face to settle as he closed his eyes, searching the darkness behind his lids for some clarity. "There's got to be more to it. If I could just find someone or something that could explain what exactly is going on with it, maybe I'd have some idea of where to go from here… Maybe even learn how to use it. But unless I keep moving, I'm not going to find out."

Steely eyes opened, holding a hollow sadness in them. "I'm sorry, Ashei, but I have to go back. I can't stay here… maybe a few days at most to prepare, but after that, I need to find some answers. You don't have to come with me…"

He offered her a weak and regretful smile. "…Before the tourney, I'd have forged a new life here in a heartbeat… Taken Malinna with me and just thrown it all to hell, starting fresh… But now, I could never turn away. It's not about the Ranch, or the money, or the fame—it's about everybody, and making sure they get the choice I didn't in living a simple and happy life, without having to fight for it. If I ran away to have one of my own, others may never get to. I need to do everything I can to make sure that happens, or I'll never be happy myself."

Ashei had softened now, dark eyes fixated on the boy as he spoke. She knew he was right, and in truth, she felt a stirring of pride for him in her chest, but she was fearful that his bravery was going to get him killed. They couldn't progress without risk, she knew, but his stubborn attitude would see them heading straight out of the frying pan and into the flames. It was double or nothing with him; Link was willing to give his all, odds be damned, and she had to respect that.

She didn't want to see the Rancher's sense of honor and duty be his downfall in a world of underhanded and selfish cowards.

Crossing her arms with a sigh, she let her weight rest on the edge of the counter, peering into the fire as it flickered strongly. "I know what you mean, kid, I do. If it was me, I wouldn't let anybody tell me to be safe over sorry, if it meant a chance at moving forward…" She admitted slowly, lips drawn thin. "I just don't want to see all our efforts go down the drain, yeah? Call me crazy, but losing you feels like it'd mean losing the fight, as well."

The Rancher nodded some, propping an elbow on the wooden arm of the odd lounge, letting his forehead rest against his palm as he puzzled over how this would all work out. Against all his internal worry, the stirring of doubt and even the idea that maybe he—of all people—had a destiny to fulfill, his gut told him that he was right. Even if it was harder than necessary, riskier, and even absurd by all tactical logic, he needed to move now.

He was drawn to the forests; the further up these mountains they had journeyed— the further away from the south—the more he felt the call of instinct.

"Trust me. Your idea will work, making camp down in the forest. It's not like anybody will find us there, and if they do figure out your involvement, its better than sitting here for them to track us down, or at the very least, trap us up here by scouting the passes." He mused, his mind working to reverse the roles and think of what he'd do if chasing himself down for a bounty. "Once they have us cornered up here, even if they don't know these lands, they know where we are and can limit supplies accordingly. It'd only be a matter of time before they worked out a way to smoke us out, and with a good enough placing of men, we'd be handing ourselves over."

Link sent her a careful look, taking on a quieter tone as his handsome features became serious. "It's just like you and that snow leopard. You gave into your fears and worries, instead of just getting on with things. All those times you stood at that door, right there, unable to even cross the threshold because you didn't know if it was out there, waiting for you… In the end, for all your caution, you just ended up hurting yourself and that thing was nowhere to be found, like it was just a figment of your imagination…"

He lifted his head to sit upright again, steely eyed with determination as the Wolf returned to his blue irises. "…Sheik is my Snow Leopard, and I'm not going to let him keep me pinned in hiding until it's too late to strike, and all of Hyrule is lost the avalanche I allowed."

Ashei stared at him a moment, simply caught in awe how much he'd changed since the broken boy in the market square, and even since the defeated man in chains. She could see it all in his eyes, hear it in the words he spoke—whatever parts of him that had been drifting away from each other over the years, each trial he struggled through driving more and more distance between, were reassembling into one again. The simple and caring Rancher, the gifted and stone-cold Swordsmen, the grinning Boy filled with naïve wonder and the tired Man that knew well of pain and despair.

They were fusing back together, piece by piece, and slowly, a true Hero was emerging from it.

She scoffed with some humour, a thin smirk curving her lips as she shook her head, raven hair shimmering in the light of the flames. "You really are like my Father." She mused distantly, letting her dark gaze linger on him fondly before she kicked off the counter, a casual gait taken to cross the room and stoke the hearth some.

She received a sheepish sort of look as Link humbly took to scratching the back of his head, hiding a smile. "Well, the way you talk about him… if I'm even half the man he was, we should be just fine."

The Warrior lent him a genuine smile and, setting the iron poker aside, straightened to stand, letting her expression warm him for what it meant between them. It was a smile that changed everything, after all. Without another word, she moved with soft steps toward him, continuing with such a controlled intent that for a moment, Link thought she may take a seat beside him—her thin wrists came to cage him instead, her hands resting upon the wood frame of the chase lounge as she leaned close, bending some to hold his gaze level with her own.

He could only see her face, the decided lines that made up her blunt features, strong and yet, strangely appealing as he leant back into the seat as far as he could, a warm flush overcoming him for her proximity. This close, he could see every little detail of her pale visage, and her flawless skin reminded him of the snow of her home, her pale lips curved in that warm smirk he recalled so vividly, only a shade darker than the rest—like iced caramel.

_Brown, _he thought, looking into her dark eyes, for the first time able to see their true colour as he heard his heart beating softly in his ears. _I can't believe I never… noticed…her eyes…were…_

"You need a sword, yeah?"

"…Huh?"

And so those dark brown eyes rolled. "A _sword_, Princess." She repeated, amused, and leant to one side of him, setting a knee to the odd couch and hanging over the back of it with an audible shuffling.

Link turned his head with a vacant blink, his mind trying to process what she'd said, before recalling where exactly they were, and why. Watching as she rifled through a pile of various items stacked behind the seat, his brows furrowed in question, until again she popped back up with a cloth wrapped bundle in hand.

She fell back to sit, shifting some for comfort, and laid the covered item in her lap, flicking one of the two locks of raven hair back over her shoulder. Licking her lips as she thought it over again quickly, pausing before the words came, Ashei would deftly pick the string holding the aged looking Hessian in place.

"This… Was my Father's sword…" She began, using a tone Link barely recognized from her. "And I think he would want you to have it. I was trained for thinner blades, so I've… never really felt as if it was mine, even though he would've handed it down to me anyway…"

Slowly she peeled the coarse fabric back, and even in the flickering light of the fire, shadows playing upon the fist shimmer of metal, the shine was not silver, but brilliant gold. Link stared as it was revealed, and easily, it was the finest make of sword he had ever laid eyes on—even among the ones of quality he'd seen stolen across the treasures of thieves he'd chased.

It was a hybrid of short and long-sword in length, and the tang was the full width of the blade. The hilt, a strange design, was onyx black; guard forked from the handle at right angles to flick out again, bearing streaks of crimson filigree. An angular pommel stone was a crisp white, like a clouded crystal, and along the silvered blade it wore a proud set of harlequin diamonds, each as golden as the sun.

It was a beautiful sword, foreign from any he'd seen, and yet more familiar to him then he knew how to explain.

He shook his head in awe, his mouth ghosting the words that he couldn't take it from her, that it was hers, but Ashei didn't allow him time.

"It's called the Gilded Sword… It's one of a kind, and its edge will never become dull." She whispered, seemingly basking in the blade's beauty as well, remembering how glorious it looked within her father's hand. "It was a gift to him from the Royal Family when he left their service… It's the reason for the golden uniforms the Elite wear. In old times, the Captain would wield it. It belonged to a Knight, long ago, who returned with it from another land… He was the first of the 'Goldies', and the reason we have them today."

Ashei held it out for him to take, offering it with a tiny smirk, wry as her dark brown eyes shone in the firelight. "I know you never got to wear the uniform, but maybe this'll make up for that, yeah?"

Gingerly, with care and respect, Link took it into his hands, feeling the weight of it and hearing an echo he couldn't place in the back of his head, like a distant memory trying to surface. Steely eyes roamed it carefully; grateful and humbled by her generosity and faith in him, and reading the engraved Hylian upon the hilt, the echo grew stronger.

"Zubora… Gabora…" He breathed, wondering how he knew they were names.

From the back of his mind it shot like a flaming arrow, an image of a mountain pass—almost identical to Snowpeak—caught in the grips of a fierce winter and then, suddenly and with a heavenly sunbeam the likes of which he'd only seen in dreams, it burst into a vibrant spring. He could almost smell the rich aroma of coffee, warm and inviting, within the Mountain Smithy. It was so vivid, crystal clear as if he'd seen it only yesterday, and looking up at Ashei, his steel blue eyes were brighter than she'd ever seen them, as if the ray of sun in his mind had filtered through them.

That was it—Ashei's eyes… they were the colour of that smooth, warm coffee served in the height of a frigid cold snap, when not even a fire would light.

…_Because it takes time to make a good point…_ He thought, the words floating through his head of their own accord, fresh with meaning as a brilliant smile split his lips.

"Thank you, Ashei, Really… It's worth more than the gold dust it was forged with, and I'll do my best to honor that."

The Warrior smiled at him again, and with a satisfied nod, lifted herself from the seat to stretch lazily, letting her arms swing down limply with a relieved sigh. She felt as if she'd lifted a cloud of burden from her shoulders, and that her father's legacy—at least in spirit—was not wasted upon a daughter, when Link was the son he deserved.

In some small manner, perhaps it had made amends, and finally, she could be at peace with his death. Ashei knew that her father would forgive her in an instant, for her childish fears and her struggle to overcome them; he would be proud of her, as he always had been, for doing the best that she could. She'd gone out to face her demons in the end, though hesitation cost her a painful lesson, and reflecting back on Link's words, perhaps the Snow Leopard truly was a figment of her imagination; a personified fear of how she would survive without her father, the looming doubt that she simply couldn't and would never be strong enough. The instant she overcame that fear, it was realized, and yet she was stronger now then ever before.

No, it was herself she needed to forgive, for allowing those fears to haunt her so; with that sword in the boy's hand, it was in its rightful place once again…

And so was she, right by the wielder's side.

"…Let's get to making that soup."

**A/N:**

**And another! I got so excited about finally being able to bring Link back, I just couldn't wait, especially with how I knew this chapter would tie up earlier concepts in the story. So I just went ahead and did it. I'm sure you don't mind.**

**It feels so good to get that out finally—That's the problem with all my foreshadowing… I get anxious to see it play out.**

**Not to mention the satisfaction of having my major Majora's Mask references come out (well, beside the obvious allusions I make to the 'masks' worn by Ganon and Zelda). I really do love MM; some might say it was the darkest Zelda, but I don't think that's true. For me, it was probably one of the most hopeful.**

**As the Garo say, Belief or disbelief rests with you, and as the Mask salesman says, Just have faith. At any point, look up; the moon is scary as hell. You enter snowhead, and see all the platforms, and it looks impossible. Three days to save the world? No chance. Can't be done. Stone Tower, the abyss below, and a death defying path up? No way. **

**But we all completed the game, despite the odds and all the trippiness. The Dogs that believed in themselves came first in the races, and to help everyone and get all the masks, you had to trust their promises and keep yours in turn. People in Termina didn't have faith in others, or understand them, and they were lonely and isolated and kept secrets. They hid under masks. **

**But you lifted their masks, brought them together and stopped that freaking moon from destroying everything.**

**Our childhood was awesome, and we're better people for it. Fan-gush overwith.**

**Onwards to Glory.**


	24. Going with the flow

People often underestimate the flow of time; how unchanging and relentless it can be. It marches on swiftly, without pause or hesitation, though it casts grand illusions as well. Within time's course, to those caught in life's throes, its speed is not always fixed—a single day can appear longer, shorter, an eternity or simply the blink of an eye.

The week following the King's death had been no exception to this strange rule, stretched out far longer than the seven days it truly was. A silent age ticking by in hours undefined, bringing with it a vast number of changes and new ideas.

To the boy Hero Link, his imprisonment and freedom and journey to refuge had felt like a year or more, and yet it had passed so very quickly to his rescuer, Ashei, that she scarcely had time to prepare herself for the rancher's internal revolution. Likewise, the lonesome Princess had endured an eternity of aging, the end of her week bringing a horrid feeling of growing old before one's time as new clouds loomed overhead and her childhood pleasures slipped further back into the shadows of duty and love.

Ganondorf, stifled in his façade, had perhaps been the only one to feel time speeding up, propelled more quickly than he'd have liked into revelations and realizations that seemed to hit him all at once, at which point his time simply froze—a torturous stop-starting of fragile things that chose to crack at inopportune moments, sending him cleaving home in desperation and denial. Were it not for Zelda's soothing voice to draw him back from the harshly screaming winds of his Desert, he might well have stayed there, staring at the dead hands of his people's clock. Still, time stopped for none, and soon enough his own ticking began again.

A week again thereafter, now leaving a strange and alien fortnight between the present and the King's Death, had set right these anomalies—the Chosen Three were all painfully aware of the stern and steady countdown left to them, the normal pacing of time returning to them with urgency, though toward what fate still remained a mystery.

Having steeled themselves and ventured back out into the frost after only a scant two days of rest and preparation, the mountain descent for Link and Ashei had been quick and full of new experience. If the foreign snows weren't different enough for the rancher, one custom of the winterlands certainly surprised him—sledding down the white face of Ashei's mountain home on nothing but strapped together lengths of bark, iced over as they were, was easier said than done.

He'd managed very well despite his aches, avoiding various trees and obstacles enough to keep up with the Warrior as they made their odd descent; when the end of one slope came, a short hike would carry them to the next, and within a day they'd traveled what would normally have taken two.

With careful timing, crossing nefarious ledges that outcropped Zora's Domain, Link had traveled ahead in the guise of Ashei herself; the hood imitating a Yeti's visage granting him easy passage as the aquatic denizens were used to seeing the Warrior of Snowpeak passing through. Careful to keep away from the thick of them, he was only spotted from afar, at which point a curious glance and a misplaced nod of recognition was all Link received. Further south at the mouth of the great rivers, the boy would wait two hours as the Zora sentries rotated, after which the real Ashei was quick to meet him there with no apparent suspicions raised.

Unsure footfalls carried the pair over the short grass and reed of the banks of the upper river, and shortly enough they were faced with the small and rickety looking cabin Ashei had set as their first destination.

But when curiosity prompted Link to ask what this cabin had to do with them, the blunt answers he received put his anxiety on high.

"Ashei, I'm not sure this is the best idea…"

She heard him stop behind her, and like a mother dealing with a stubborn child, she let slip a tiny sigh. Turning to face him fully, dark eyes took in his state—a tired slouch betrayed Link's exhaustion still, and he refused to remove the Yeti hood. After a moment, her stoic face cracked and she couldn't help but give him a placating smile.

"Look, Iza is an old friend of mine, yeah? Mine and her Father were thick as thieves. There's nothing to worry about…" Ashei offered quietly, a little too quickly for the boy's confidence, and sparing a glance over her shoulder at the cabin she continued. "The boat hire doesn't see a lot of business besides me and a few of the more dedicated sports fishermen that come up here to Hena's, so it'll just be her at this time of day."

Shifting his weight from boot to boot, Link's hands flexed in the almost too-tight leather of borrowed gloves, and he was grateful that his incredulous expression was hidden from her. It wasn't that he didn't trust her, but he knew all to well that it didn't matter how far back you went with some people where money was concerned, and he had nothing of this Iza to go by.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but… If her business is failing then do you really think we can ask for her help with a reward like that out over me?" he seemed tense and reluctant, voice muffled through thick fabric and fur. "I mean… She's probably a fine person and all, but… two hundred _thousand_ rupees…That's the most I'll ever be worth even if I spent a lifetime working three jobs…"

He trailed off a little under Ashei's glare, but with a slight roll of his shoulders, the boy hung his head. "…And I of all people know that's enough money to tempt… almost anyone in times like these, and I wouldn't blame them…"

The Warrior grimaced a little, knowing full well there was great risk, and took a gloved hand to sweep over raven hair in a slight nervous tick. Dark eyes traced the ground a moment, as if searching for the words in the earth, but she only ended up shaking her head.

"Look, you're the one who needs to keep moving. This is the only way down without being spotted save Iza, it's got to be better just going through one person than risking Gods know what out there. If anything goes wrong here… Do whatever you have to and we'll steal one of her boats instead, yeah? We'll just strong-arm her into taking us." almost dismissively, she stepped forward to outstretch a hand to him, reaching for the furred hood.

Link recoiled away from her quickly, his own hands gripping the hem to keep it firmly on. "Are you crazy? I'm not taking this off!" he yelled defensively, tensing up. "And if you know her so well, it's bad enough thinking of threatening her! What if she runs off afterward? She'll know exactly where we're headed and that it's you to look for!"

"You look like a bandit in that thing, you'll stir up trouble if you wear it!" she hissed, scowling as she moved to grapple it from him. "I don't need her unloading a crossbow bolt into you! She might not even recognize you and wearing that'll just make her suspicious, yeah? You have to look like a customer!"

"I might as well be a bandit if we're _stealing_ your _friend's_ boat and _forcing_ her along! Even if she doesn't recognize me, she'll give my description to the sentries as a thief! We can't outswim _Zoras_, Ashei!" he snapped, stumbling back as the woman lunged to get at him. Link was quick to block her hands, batting her arms away in a series of tactful moves, but Ashei was quick to anger, stomping a boot down upon his to distract him and tangling her fingers in the fur.

The woman was far stronger than she looked, Link noted, but the pain in his foot shot quickly up his shin and caused him to cry out in some shock. A rush of wind stifled his hearing and brought the cold breeze across his face as the hood was torn away from him, blonde bangs sticking with sweat to his forehead. Instinctive, the boy countered, his arms pushing outward before he could stop himself. Open palms struck Ashei's midsection in a firm push, buckling her as the wind left her lungs, and as steely eyes regained senses Link would see her stumble back and trip over the lip of a ridge. The heavy pack she wore seemed to topple her, the weight of it preventing any chance of regaining equilibrium as Ashei flung her arms out in vain.

He flinched at the shrill yelp as she fell, cringing away as the splash caught his face, almost afraid to look as Ashei flailed about in the shallows of the ice cold river, soaked and no doubt as angry as a hornet.

"Agh! Bastard!" the rage was evident on her face, raven wisps of hair stuck fast to her neck, a wayward lock coiled over the bridge of her nose and clothes sagging with moisture. She struggled a moment, unstable in slippery mud as she tried to right herself, and after only seconds her rage had subsided and her panic was clear. "G-Get me up! Quick!"

A flash of guilt ran through him, watching her a moment before recognizing the tone of fear in her voice. Her words jolted him to move quickly, bounding to the edge of the bank and kneeling some as he took her arm in a steady hold, catching the notable twitch in her fingers. Bemused, he was silent as the woman scrambled onto the bank, heaving herself with desperation and urgency, unphased by the way her fists twisted into his loose white shirt. It was as if she forgot he was there, climbing over him like he was simply a sturdy rock.

Ashei flopped beside him in the short grass and dirt, panting with a tiny tremor through her, her eyes shut tightly with one fist still attached to Link's attire as the water dripped from her form. The Rancher, adept with reading other's body language as he was, knew what he'd seen and didn't need to question it, but as he gave her another once over, Link realized why Iza was their route.

With a slow breath to brace for the backlash of temper this could have, he asked quietly as was possible, as if to spare her pride of invisible ears.

"…You can't swim, can you?" he whispered expectantly, rhetorical as it was, tracing the features of anxiety on her usually stoic face.

Ashei's dark eyes opened some, looking up at him with humiliation in them, her pale lips contorting into a somber frown. A bead of water rolled across her jaw, and she felt the words choke in her throat, her gaze darting to the dirt as she quickly shook her head.

How could she tell him, how could she possibly answer him? If he was going to be caught it would be her fault, and for such a feeble thing. On the alpine peaks, the water was deadly, one would never risk submersion for fear of hypothermia. Even her father had only taught her to steer clear of it, and she had all these years, be it the ice broken surfaces of frost lakes or a spring river in Hyrule Proper. To take to the forests, there was only one waterway the pair could use inconspicuously and it ran through natural canyons and caves—there was no walking through it.

A long and heavy sigh rolled forth as she gingerly shifted, using Link's shoulder as a brace to lift herself into a sitting position, eyeing the river ruefully. After a moment, the corner of her mouth twitching, a defeated tone slipped from her.

"…Iza... knows how to get us down there safe, yeah? There's rapids and shit along the way we need to go and I've never… had the gall to go that way myself, so… neither of us know how to tackle rapids…" she muttered to herself more than anything, watching a few minnows return to the spot she'd fallen as the water calmed.

She didn't look at him, inclining her head away some when it came. "Truth is I… figured you'd just stay safe up here with me and I… limited our options in doing so. I didn't think you'd want to take off in the heat of everything, yeah? After it died down I thought we'd take a main river though Eldin, or something, but we can't afford to right now so it's Iza or nothing."

Link took this in with a small nod, adjusting some to lean elbows on his knees, letting his attention follow a dragonfly as it hovered over the other bank. The tingle in his spine betrayed the underlying apprehension over including a stranger into things, but he knew that he had forced this hand. Ashei held a valid point, and though she may not have mentioned it in embarrassment, the boy could understand the risks posed by traversing this route while so inexperienced—he could swim perfectly well, but even he would have trouble over rapids should they capsize. Ashei would simply drown, if he failed to get to her. If they went alone, he risked both of their lives, hers more than his, but if they waited any longer they may be pinned here by the authorities.

Handsome features turned to her, drawing her attention, and despite the dark circles under his eyes the boy's visage was forgiving and soft. "Then I'm sure she'll help us. She's a friend of yours, after all…" he offered gently, tranquil like the trickling of the water and as smooth as a white lie could come. The ghost of a smile came and he held it, though he could see now Ashei had inherited his reservations.

"No, you're right, Link… I've got no idea how she's even going to react, or if she'll know you…"

The warrior shook her head again, an agitated hand swiping sodden hair from her face. "You probably reckon I'm an idiot for thinking we could just walk in, yeah? I didn't think it'd work out well but I can't tell any other way at this point… We're up the creek without a fucking boat, or at least somebody to bloody drive it." Picking up a pebble from beside her, her arm whipped to toss it spitefully, and the woman winced some for her trouble.

"Your muscle is still damaged from where you were stabbed." Link warned casually, lifting himself to his feet with a bit more effort than usual. "That settles it, there's no other way without being spotted. But we're not going to 'steal' any boat if you can't swim. It's true, neither of us know how to handle one over rapids anyway, and we're both still too injured to guarantee we'd be able to keep above water..."

He bent, dusting the dirt from his tanned pants quickly, and turned to walk toward the cabin, stepping over the yeti mask as he went. "We're not going to threaten a friend of yours like that and cause her trouble either. She didn't do anything to deserve that."

Ashei scoffed cynically, picking at the gold embroidery in the red fabric of her pants. "Then what do you suggest we do now? Fly there?" she snapped, some sarcasm in her tone.

"Wait here. I'll go and talk to Iza myself."

Ashei whipped her head around in some disbelief, staring at the back of him with a frown. Her mouth opened to yell, but something about the way he carried himself was different than before—it was almost as if his tired slouch had entirely vanished, nothing more than a mirage to hide the determined energy beneath. She felt her chest tighten with some nervousness, and despite herself she remained put, turning back to watch the river when she heard the boy's boots upon the worn wooden steps.

There was no turning back now.

With some caution, Link stepped onto the floating bridge that served as the way to the entrance, the flow of the river beneath resounding in the unsteady creaking of timbre. He could see the waterlogging and cracks appearing in it, and it made him feel more unsteady than even the natural sway of it, his steps timed to the rocking as best as was possible. The whole place seemed to be in need of some maintenance and it made him question just how safe this journey would be—if there was one thing to speak of negligence in the façade, what was to say Iza's boats would be any better, or for that matter, her ability to steer them safely through rapids herself?

Steely eyes traced the linear grain of the cabin wall for stability, his hand feeling the moist splintering of it, and Link noted the pattern of the river beneath. He could feel it in his knees first, and then his stomach, a slow dance up his spine until it hit the back of his head with a numb and queasy feeling. When again the soft sole of his boot met stable wood to bring him before the doorway, he found himself shudder with a strange sense of premonition, staying his hand a moment from the inevitable knock.

A cautious side-glance back to the bridge, unhindered by the usual hang of blonde bangs, let him watch the slow tilt of it. He found himself distracted by it, steely eyes following it closely, and was reminded of something he couldn't quite place.

…_I've never been on a boat before, have I…? _He wondered idly, the strange sensation in his stomach haunting him for it. The boy's gaze turned back to the door, focusing on the plume of ornamental feathers, and a nagging feeling itched at the back of his neck, even as his knuckles rapped upon wood.

Quickly though, his ears twitched to the sound it made—he could hear his knock echo out, and he found himself quizzical of the cavernous expanse that must lay on the other side. More than that though, the response took him aback, echoing loudly to suggest quite a large chamber awaited…

_Natural rock formations…Chances are there's jagged edges littered through the undertow. No wonder Ashei was so nervous…_

"If that's the postman, just leave the letters by the door! I'm busy!" came a female voice, shrill and demanding.

Blinking a little, Link couldn't help but give a cautionary glance to the surrounds—if the postman was going to show up soon, that could pose a problem. The postman was a local legend for two reasons. The first being his undying loyalty to his trade, with an almost obsessive doctrine driving his daily service to inform people of and deliver information. The second, of course, was the man's uncanny speed, allowing him to single handedly serve as the only postman for the Hyrule Proper area. A chill flew down the boy's spine—the postman was also responsible for handing out the wanted posters, and if such a man spotted the rancher, no doubt he would return with alarming speed to Castle Town with such information.

Suppressing an internal shudder, the boy knocked more urgently, grimacing at the thought. "No, it's not the postman, but this is pretty important anyway. Uh…" Biting the inside of his cheek, Link eyed the wooden doorknob, fixing his hand to it swiftly. "I need a guide to take me down to the forests, and I have it on good authority that you're the best river guide, so can I come in?"

"Rides are closed. The Rapid Ride package takes people down to Lake Hylia, I don't offer anything like you're talking about." came the rather cold and nonchalant response followed by a quiet muttering Link's ears twitched to pick up. "…Seriously, what the hell do people think this is, a ferry service..?"

Gritting his teeth, Link's fingers tightened on the doorknob, and with frustration he watched his knuckles whiten. Drawing a slow breath, the boy flexed his free hand in preparation—he didn't want to do this, but he would if he had to. "Listen, it's Iza right? …Ashei's told me quite a lot about you, and I… know she's a good friend of yours... See, I come from a ranch near Ordon and we need to get there as soon as possible. Please?"

Holding his breath, his whole body stilled, awaiting response. When it finally came, it held a curious tint to it, but the boy could easily tell it wasn't enough. "...Is Ashei there with you? Because she's not one to rush, I know that much. There's been bandits around here lately, and I'm not gonna open this door otherwise so if she's not there, you can get lost, got it?"

His heart leapt to life in his chest then, a desperate grin forming as he nodded, as if she could see. "Yes! Yes she is, she's just… uh… over by the river. I thought I'd just talk to you first though, it's kind of important and plus, she's a little embarrassed about it all too." He pleaded, glancing over his shoulder at the warrior on the bank.

With something of a snort from behind the door, the voice of Iza seemed to snap into a cynical and gossip like train of thought. "Yeah, that sounds real convincing. Ashei, too embarrassed to talk to me herself? What the hell, are you two eloping or something? Right, like I'll believe that, now get stepping, guy. Rides are **closed**."

At the mention of that Link all but recoiled from the door, a slight blush creeping over his nose as he drew breath, ready to deny that notion outright. But then, steely eyes snapping wide, an idea came to him that brought his teeth clamping down on his tongue. Almost mechanically, the boy found himself staring at the door, giving a sly and even paced placation as the foul taste of a lie formed on his tongue.

"…Well, alright, I guess I'll just have to get her… See, we're trying to be discreet, and she doesn't want anybody to find out, so she knew you'd take us down a private pass to the forest… She's only a few days away, it could be… any time now…"

Leaving the words to linger and getting no response, the boy quietly stepped back across the bridge, ignoring the unsettling feeling it gave him, and tentatively made his way back to Ashei, eyeing the sleeping roll on her pack. His fingers twitched as he looked back over his shoulder, keeping tabs on the door so that he could be sure Iza didn't see. With a sly glint in his gaze and an aloof smile, he met Ashei's furrowed brow with a chuckle as he crouched down beside her.

Cocking her head, the warrior leant back from him some, unnerved by the look on his face. "…Well, did she agree or what?" she queried slowly, not liking the gleam in his eye. "…You look like you just won a bet."

A boyish snicker betrayed him as he swept strands of blonde from his brow, adjusting on his knee to take fidgeting hands to her pack straps. "Ashei…" he began, holding back a grin. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I need you to be the mother of my child."

Immediately she turned on him, smacking his hands away from her altogether as she leapt to her feet, stumbling in the speed of the move. "W-what?!" she cried, glaring down at him with all the poison to kill him, her fists clenched tightly at her sides as she glowered. "Link, you dirty bastard, I swear to the Gods, you touch me I'll…!"

The boy couldn't help but shrink some under the intense and wild wide eyes sizing him up, but despite the tension running through the woman's frame—tightly coiled to spring upon him if he tried anything—he lifted a finger to his lips in a silencing motion. "Be quiet Ashei!" he soothed urgently, sparing a paranoid glance as his head whipped back toward the cabin. "She can't know, so just keep it down! I'm just going to stuff the sleeping roll under your shirt."

Bearing down on him, Ashei was quick to grab his collar, pulling him close enough to see the true colour of her brown eyes once more. "What the hell have you told her?" she spat, the venomous sound hissing through her teeth.

Link raised his hands in a surrender, an awkward look on his handsome features suggesting that it was the best he had. Glancing off, he drew a deep breath, before letting a slow sigh come. When his gaze returned to her face, scanning her blunt features, a wry smile became apparent on his lips as he settled hands on her wrists, bringing them away from him some.

"This is the best way I can think of to get out of here quickly and with as little questions as possible." Offering a small shrug, he nodded to indicate her pack, gaze flitting to the sleeping roll. "I told her it was important, and that you and I need to get down to the forest without being seen because you wanted to be discreet. She's the one that mentioned eloping; I just followed up on it. If you're about to have a baby, that's as urgent as it gets. It's just a sleeping roll up the shirt until we're there. Come on, I was the woman last time, it's your turn now."

Looking like a cobra about to spit acid, Ashei seemed to flare up, shaking her arms free of his hold and snorting with some distain as she turned away from him to glare off across the way. She wasn't sure why, but the thought simply rubbed her the wrong way—in fact, anything to do with the implication of her being enfeebled and delicate was, to put it lightly, out of bounds. Being an expectant mother was not on her to do list at all, never had been, and her aversions aside, she wasn't even sure she could act it out convincingly.

Let alone face an old friend in such a state.

Crossing her arms tightly, she seemed to withdraw from the rancher entirely, rubbing her upper arms in reluctance. What would Iza think of her? And more than that, would she tell anyone else?

_Of course she will, it's bloody Iza._ _She'll never let me live it down._

Seething through her teeth, the warrior turned a fearsome scowl back on Link, twisting her body so as not to face him fully. She said nothing, her silent fury clearly received as the boy leant back on his hands, waiting with a cocked brow. If she didn't know better, there was a hint of smugness to him, as if he found it amusing. One of her hands rose to tug on a lock of her hair, pulling firmly, and to her the discomfort held the opposite effect as slowly, she turned her back to him again.

"…Fine, Princess, you win." She growled low, untucking her skive from her belt. "But you owe me for this."

Link couldn't help the victorious grin as he leapt to his feet, quick to begin unclipping her pack in order to take the soft material out. "Yeah, I'm not tough enough to endure childbirth—oof!" He laughed, until his ribs met the sharp elbow of his comrade.

Within minutes, Link was before the door again, with a very agitated Ashei beside him, her skive full to bursting with what looked to be a convincingly pregnant stomach. To complete the façade, Link now carried her pack as well, letting it lean against his leg as the rancher came knocking once again.

"I thought I told you," came the now belligerent voice of Iza through the barrier of wood, "…to get lost!" she barked, and the small door was reefed open violently to reveal her.

Standing there with a crossbow in hand and loaded to fire, a slender and oddly pear shaped woman in her thirties held a scowl that would send any man running, thick brows crinkling the top of her slim nose. However, perhaps surprisingly, Link's gaze was first taken not to her weapon, but instead to the strange bounce of a rather large mahogany afro, held in place by a yellow headband. Her attire didn't stir the boy's confidence either, dressed as she was in a scant few articles; a tiny midriff top under suspender straps connecting to shorts, thigh high wading boots bearing a swirling pattern over long legs.

She looked to Link far more like a woman of loose entertainment than the owner of a boat hire.

For a good solid moment, the rancher and the strange woman were caught in a staring contest, Iza's scrutiny of him raising some tension—brown eyes roamed his features, looking suspicious, and Link felt the hair on his neck rise with the fear she may recognize him. But the very instant Iza's attention drifted sideward to her old friend, her scowl faded to be replaced by a look of shock, the crossbow lowering some in a loosened grip as her eyebrows shot heavenward.

Iza seemed to blink, as if trying to process the sight, her eyes flitting between the pair at her door with an awkward sense of confusion, her pouting mouth set firmly into a small 'o'. No matter how hard she stared, she simply didn't seem focus upon it, as if under the impression she'd not yet fully awoken, and it wasn't until Ashei roughly cleared her throat that both Link and Iza snapped to attention.

"Take a pictograph. It'll last longer, yeah?" She drawled bitterly, glaring sidelong at her companion, before giving a strained nod to her old friend. "This idiot tells me you won't let us through, Iza. Is that true?" she rose a hairless brow to punctuate her question, a finger tapping her bicep with impatience.

Taken aback, her body still for a moment as if defensive of the sight, Iza gave Link a pointed glance. Squinting, she let the weapon fall to her side, her arm limp and an accusing look spared to the boy before her attention fell back to Ashei—or more specifically, Ashei's swollen torso.

"…Alright, get in here." Leaning to one side of the door, she gestured for the two to step in, a defeated look plastered on narrow features.

Hanging back to let Ashei cross the threshold first, the creak of wooden flooring only accented the distant drip of cave walls as the door was shut behind them with a lazy slam. Dimly lit, a few lanterns were scattered about to reveal Link's guess—an array of wooden platforms hinged onto the rocky walls of a natural cavern made up Iza's abode. The air held a chill to it from the water and the dampness of the atmosphere, scant furnishings made up of trinkets and a few jars that hung from the ceiling by rope. A wooden table in the far side seemed to have a selection of scribbled maps, different routes of the waterways, and to its side could be spotted a burlap sack with small bombs laying haphazardly against a table leg.

With a strange sway of her hips, Iza walked ahead to pull a few chairs out, casting the pair a look of judgment as she let her slender frame slump back into one, crossing a leg over the other and earning a bounce from her hair. As the pair came to follow suit, a tense silence fell between them all, brown eyes watching the two apparent lovers with a catlike focus despite the low levels of light. Link stiffly lowered himself into a chair, avoiding Iza's stare as he set their packs beside him while Ashei awkwardly tried to find a comfortable position on her own. When all were seated, the brunette spoke, a sly smirk tugging at her mouth as her attention turned to her friend.

"So." Iza began with a haughty click of her tongue, propping an elbow casually upon the back of her chair. "Who's this, then?"

With an impatient roll of her eyes, Ashei suppressed the itching crawling through her lower back, and jutting her jaw out gave a blunt answer. "This is… the father." She paused, watching Link's expression.

She saw his eyes turn to her silently, a twitch to the boy's shoulder betraying his concerns. She knew she couldn't use his name, they were treading on thin ice as it was, lucky enough that Iza hadn't immediately picked up on the boy's familiar face. Quickly, the Warrior found her eyes drawn to her father's sword, strapped to Link's back as it was, and recalling the engravings of old Hylian on its hilt, borrowed a name for convenience.

With her fingers drumming upon a still damp knee, her tongue was quick to provide the first part of their cover story, eyeing the proprietor of the boat hire with a look of seriousness. "…His name is Zubora Gabora. He was a blacksmith's apprentice in Castle Town when I met him." Something in her stomach churned with the thought she may have to falsify an entire romance for Iza's love of gossip before she'd offer her aid, but she swallowed it as best she could.

Link felt himself twitch a little when Iza turned a coy smile to him, her leg bouncing mischievously as her eyes roamed him again, but this time it was a slow rise that took in every detail. To his slight relief, it wasn't a suspicious one per se, but instead, the odd feeling of being judged by looks alone only renewed his tension, and the boy was quick to look away. Running a shaky hand through damp bangs, he slicked one side back with a calming breath, nodding to Ashei's explanation.

However, Iza's low snicker brought back worry, a casual toss of her hair bringing about that distracting bounce once again as her fingers flexed idly. "Really? He looks pretty skinny for a blacksmith…" she cooed, something of amusement in her voice as she sized up the boy, like a cat with a mouse. Nothing but her gaze shifted back to Ashei when she addressed her again. "And here I thought he said he was from a ranch."

Chest tightening, Link felt himself lurch forward to catch her attention, his whole body looking poised to flee at any moment. "I didn't stay long… I was maybe a year in when I left, I didn't really get a chance to build up muscle." He lied quickly, covering his nerves by scratching his cheek, peering upwards as if he were thinking. "Yeah, I reckon it's been almost two years since I've worked at the ranch now… They'll be surprised to see I've left the apprenticeship, no doubt I'll get an earful for leaving it…"

Seeing Iza's brow rise, he laughed nervously, cocking his head toward Ashei in a manner that made the warrior want to smack him. "Well, if it isn't overshadowed by this, anyway!"

The brunette furrowed her brow, leaning forward as if to say something, but Ashei promptly stood before she could get a word out, the painful scrape of wood against wood drawing attention as her chair was shunted back.

"Look, Iza. I'm hormonal, my tits hurt, I can't raise a baby up on the peaks and I've pretty much screwed my career in combat, yeah?" she scowled down at the other woman, her shoulders raised defensively as her fists clenched at her sides. "I came to you because I thought you wouldn't give me the hassle of asking all these questions and rubbing it in my face. I can't bloody well walk down to the forest in my condition, so if you're not going to help me, I'll let myself out, yeah!" her voice pitched toward the end, her frustration evident and lending a genuine desperation to her voice.

Iza's mouth snapped shut as her head cocked back, an affronted look on her tanned face as stared up at the warrior, but much to Link's horror, the situation only escalated as the brunette stood to match her friend.

"How could I not ask questions?" she squealed, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "You never even told me you were seeing somebody! And he's handsome, if a bit young, but my Gods, Ashei, I'd at least hope for a letter! So much for a friend up here in the sticks! I swear, if I find out Hena knew about this before I did…!"

"Nobody knows!" Ashei yelled, causing Link to flinch as a finger was leveled toward him. "He didn't even know until recently! It was a bloody one off, but this bloke has the decency to marry me! Hiked right up my mountain, in a blizzard, came and found me when I wanted nothing more than to hide out there in shame!"

All were silent in the room then as the two women squared off, deadly and volatile stillness making the air seem thick as the rancher held his tongue, steely gaze torn between the two as the story unfolded. To say the rancher wasn't impressed by Ashei's acting would be an understatement, but playing to the picture of an upstanding gentleman she'd portrayed him as, decided it was best to smooth things. Reluctantly, and gripping the bottom of his chair for good measure, Link chanced clearing his throat only to have both women glare at him thunderously, the echoing drip the only noise otherwise.

"…Iza…" he began softly, courageously holding her fierce gaze, "…I know you feel left out of the loop, and I understand that… I'm taking away a friend of yours and you feel like… you're going to be forgotten out here. But…" Slowly, he rose from his seat, taking a small step toward them and eyeing Ashei apologetically as he gingerly wrapped an arm around her shoulder. It took him a moment to continue given the look she gave him, something in her dark eyes suggesting she may bite him.

"…But… I care about her and I don't want her to be out there on the mountains raising my child alone. It's a difficult situation, and it's taken a long time to convince her, but I think we can really make a life together back on the ranch." Leveling his tone, he found it easy to betray a gentle and sincere plight, the points of his ears twitching to the sound of it as he surprised himself. "We just need a little help, and it'd mean the world to us if you leant a hand."

Tying it all up flawlessly with a charming smile that made his cheeks hurt, he held it until he visibly saw Iza's stony disposition melting away. With it, he felt the tightness in his chest easing, and through his arm, he could tell Ashei had relaxed as well; the woman's shoulders falling slack. It seemed, once again, he had disarmed a situation with relative ease, but wriggling his toes some in his boots he couldn't help but feel a sense of emptiness, uneasy and unsteady like the sensation of the bridge.

Link had never been an adept liar, nor would he ever be. Something about being dishonest simply held adverse affects on him, be it a depressing feeling in the pit of his stomach or a physical ache, like his mind punished him psychosomatically for such behaviour. But here, with his arm wrapped around Ashei and a sleeping roll tucked under her shirt in substitution for his own child, he noted rather alarmingly that he didn't feel it. Perhaps even more alarmingly, he also found he didn't much care. The lie came as easily as it would have any common conman, but the content of it—this charade—seemed to eat away at him in its place.

His brows furrowed a little before he wiped the bemused expression from his face, straining to hold a seriousness to it—the wolf shone through in his eyes, dulled as they became, as he waited for Iza's response. Did he feel guilt for lying to her; using her like this? …No, he supposed he didn't. In fact, quite the opposite; he felt right to do so, as if the world perhaps owed him the lenience of such dishonesty for a greater good. He felt relieved that she was falling for it, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he was proud of himself for his ingenuity. But as he watched her brows twitch, a myriad of accepting expression run across the woman's features, Link couldn't help but wonder if Ashei felt the same. The two women were supposed to be friends, and it was obvious this little ruse had caused a bit of a fissure in their trust.

The emptiness, he supposed, boiled down to the now unscrupulous pair, both bereft of any family and unable to cleave home, yet they stood falsifying the very epitome of such a thing. Ashei seemed, to his knowledge, far more uncomfortable with the idea of false motherhood, as if fearful of the perception of her that would come of it. He had noted her protest had not included the dishonesty of it, but rather, an aversion to opinions that would stir thereafter.

As a matter of fact, Link himself not once blushed since this little act had come to him, nor had he any urges to deny such an affiliation to the woman beside him, as he usually would have. It was a strange a sanguine thing, standing in the role of a concerned father to be, simply trying to make a decent life with his love. That was what affected him so, and it was then Link felt his stomach turn on itself, a strange few things springing to mind.

Either he was falling into league with liars and thieves in desperation… or perhaps, on some level, he spoke the truth to Iza—a vague truth, perhaps, but one that reflected his deepest wishes. This woman who had turned his life around, who had saved him from self pity, who challenged him, freed him of his chains, both mental and physical. How lucky would he be, how happy, were this situation real. Perhaps Ashei meant more to him than he'd realized in the thick of things—what would he do if he lost her, brought harm to her? Where would he be now without her to guide him? He had risked revealing himself directly simply to ensure her safety.

The thought of his own welfare over rapids never had the chance to sway him at all, overshadowed by the fact the warrior faced a greater danger.

He had always been like that though, he supposed; Link was a man quick to suffer so others may not, and even now, that extended especially to his family.

When all was said and done, when all was right with the world, if such a thing were even possible, he would not return to his Ranch as he pretended to now, much as he wished he could. After such an ordeal, even when his name was cleared, he knew well of the tolls of association. Forever would he be known as the son of a traitor, who after being suspected of killing a king, would at least have killed a regent. There would be nothing left of the Rancher's business were he to return to it. Though he'd hope to see Malinna become successful, if he laid his hand to any beast or grain, he would surely spoil them—stained goods, unable to be sold, tainted by his presence.

The only hope of a future for his sister and Ingora was, of course, if he cleared his name enough for them to get past the stigma of public persecution. Even then, their lives would be hard enough trying to keep the Ranch, and Link knew there was no chance of saving it now that he was a wanted man. They'd sell up, move onto smaller pastures, and maybe—just maybe—Malinna's strength would see some reward…

But her hands, at the end of a hard life, would be just as calloused as his or Ashei's and there was no helping that now.

In reticence, he looked to the warrior, her dark gaze fixated on the wooden boards beneath them, and feeling the radiant warmth of her presence he knew then what she was to him; why he followed her so willingly. She was the only future left to him, exiled to a cold mountaintop, where his name would become but a whisper of a dead man, lost.

And maybe she knew that, at the back of her mind, as he did. Maybe she'd known, in some small way, when she'd met him years ago that their destiny was a shared one. After all, her life was one he'd always wanted. She represented every element of what he'd wished his life to be—free, simple, honest and self satisfied, away from prying eyes and needing nothing more than that simple existence… _meaning_ nothing more than that simple existence.

It was a quiet and private little epiphany, but it was exactly those reasons that made Ashei so important to him, and allowed her to drive him forward. The boy couldn't help, in this moment, but be reminded of the humble existence and family he seemed to be so often stripped of, and the stark acuity of the fact he would once again have to start over. But standing here with the warrior beside him, a faint glimmer of some hope for himself, took away a little bit of that pain.

He may well have lost his ranch, the home he'd always known, and any opportunity to support his family, forced to watch them from afar… But perhaps one day, in a future life upon a mountain peak, he would stand with Ashei in the thick frost and watch a happy child play in the snow, content enough with that.

Finally, a sigh brought him from his reverie as Iza gave the pair a tired smile, hands coming to her sides as a hip jutted out. "Well, I guess there's no helping it then… we'll leave in about an hour, and you can bunk in for the night with Coro on the other side… His place is a pigsty, but hey, it's better than nothing I guess."

A simultaneous sigh of relief slipped from the pair despite themselves, and Ashei gave a curt nod, not bothering to remove Link's arm. "Thanks, Iza… really, you're doing a world a good here, yeah? I mean it." She drawled, a content sort of smirk crossing her blunt features.

Iza waved a hand dismissively as she turned, taking a looping of rope from a hook on the wall. "As long as I get an invite to the wedding and a letter now and then to keep me sane, we'll be square."

Though the rancher wasn't fond of yet another person in the loop, he let it slide for the moment, and at the word wedding, remembered his arm to gingerly withdraw it. Moving past Ashei, he leant her a lopsided smile, making his way back to his chair—he really did treasure any rest afforded to him, and wasn't about to waste it, the stretched gasp from worn muscle pulling him to sit.

As Iza wandered away down a creaky set of steps, the bob of her afro still visible as she descended, she called out with one final condition.

"Oh and Ashei… If you want to keep that child, I suggest you don't try any of Coro's cooking."

**New A/N:**

**I added a bit more depth to the important part of this chapter, which is Link's internal monologue. It made it slightly less crap, and I feel a little better about this now. Sorry.**

**Original A/N:**

**Ughgugh. Scrape the rust off my typing fingers.**

**Well. Wedding went well, bought a new car, that was all awesome and stuff…**

**But this week. Oh my god. This week can burn and die.**

**Just so everybody knows, I have this acute phobia of having my blood disturbed. That may sound weird, but I can't cut myself, I can't have my circulation cut off, I can't handle severe bruising without going into a fit that resembles a state of shock.**

**Now, having babies… includes blood tests.**

**My doctor is completely unsympathetic—and to his credit, he didn't really understand what I was talking about, or get how severe I react either—to this thing I have.**

**I spent, and I am not joking, two and a half hours immobilized and hyperventilating, unable to be touched or speak, in tears, trembling, when he told me I was having four of them. I was trapped in the car afterwards for ages after initial breakdown in his office… in which he told me to 'be adult, and get through it' in the most apathetic way EVER.**

**I strained my back and core muscles in this massive anxiety attack, too, so the following day was utter agony as anyone who's inured their back full well knows, in which I was confined to my bed. I couldn't move, and I spent five hours as still as a statue, unable to so much as lift my head.**

**Then, I freaked out at the IMVS and ran away from my appointment. It took three days of crying and stress for me to get up there, with my mum (I took my MUM) failing to console me, so my husband came the second time. I have my own phlebotomist who knows me. Got it done, and now I'm riding out aftershocks of panic.**

**Had to have an ultrasound to make sure my stress didn't cause any harm.**

…**So, I'm going to uh… change my doctor, I think. Anyway, I'm exhausted, and this is the best I can do. I'm sorry.**

**I also wrote another chapter to HttB, but I'm gonna go through it with a fine tooth comb because I'm all paranoid about it's quality.**

**Onwards to Glory (when I'm over being pathetic).**


	25. You Can't Step in the Same River Twice

The lush forests of Hyrule had long served as the southern borderlands, the thickets and trees like a green mist to fog the view of the lands beyond. In early times, many a man had lost their way, wandering lonely in a sea of foliage with nothing but haunting, childlike laughter to guide them. Legends spoke of the children of the forest, their spirits still lingering about the grottos as their shadows skittered across the fractured light from the canopy above. No man had ever proven their existence, but many Hylians held such superstitions, tucking their children early into bed for fear an unruly child may wander off to heed the call of the woods—a subtle and ghostly panflute luring them to where the masked children gathered to play.

Settlements at the forest's edge bore some courage to such tales, small villages leading peaceful lives there, and over the years they saw that the old stories surrounding Faron's domain were obscure though many fold. But among the ranching families and the denizens of huts and cottages scattered about the woodland front, even those who did not hold such things as true still found their doors adorned with charms, warding off the mischievous spirits who dwelled there with them.

Such was true of Coro's small hut as well, and much like his sister's abode, a plume of vibrant feathers hung upon his door as well, collected neatly in an arrangement reminiscent of a dream catcher.

After a long way coming, following the rivers with the talent of Iza to keep them above water, Link and Ashei had finally made it to the forest as planned. After a fairly brief set of explanations, Ashei's ruse of motherhood still holding safely enough, the laid back Coro had been far easier to sway aid from, much to Iza's chagrin. The earlier shocks she'd received had put her fuse rather short this day, and the big-haired brunette had made to keep familial reunions short and her return home swift, though not before a short spat ensued between siblings. More the fault of the elder as the younger and more mellow of the two simply accepted her irritations with a few shrugs, the rancher and his expectant 'wife-to-be' were quickly left to the care of the lantern salesman, who—quite the opposite of his sister—seemed to have no qualms at all with the sudden imposition.

When the orange hues of twilight came shimmering down through the broken shade of the trees, the light and warmth of a fire beckoned a welcome start to the evening… far more so than the bubbling broth it heated. Conversation was forced between them all from upon shortly cropped stumps, the uncomfortable seating only lending more awkward strain to the gathering as normality was feigned with their laid-back host, and supper politely declined. Needless to say, by the time that twilight had faded into a lonely and bruised looking darkness, Link's false identity had been fleshed out to a degree almost as painful as a black eye of the same shade. Unable to stand it any longer, the rancher was quick to unfurl his sleeping roll and put the persona to rest.

Laying half curled in the somewhat stiff folds of his makeshift bed, steely eyes traced the slim outline of a nearby weed with mute boredom, his handsome features pensive and distant. The warmth of the dying fire seeped into his back, like a balm upon tired muscles to soothe, and though such comforts had lulled him before, tonight it seemed his eyes were immune to slumbers' charm. He had been there an hour now, the rich scent of the earthy forest floor filling his lungs and the sporadic snores of Coro pulling the odd twitch from his ears. Somewhere beneath him, hidden by fabric, a small rock had pressed itself into his ribs alongside grains of dirt and sand that saw his skin itch.

Normally, such trifles were simply part of the camping experience, and he had dealt with them without fuss; minor inconveniences that came with a traveling trade. But as he lay there with an aching body and an active mind, he found himself lacking the distractions needed to ignore them.

Almost habitually, his gaze flicked upward to scan the stars and find his position under them, a sense of bearing that needed constant satisfaction—one he'd been stripped of upon the mountain peaks, and reflexively sought to regain. It took him only a moment to spot it, the constellation that showed the way north, and with a languid slump he found himself on his back to search the heavens more closely. His eyes darted between the abstracts shapes given to the stars, mapping them out to form a rough approximation of distances in his mind.

_The Hunter to the far west…The Virgin over there, by the North star…_he paused, granting a glance to Coro, the afro wearing boy's breathing seeming to stop for a notable length of time before starting up again with a loud snort. Link couldn't help but squint when the calculations in his head came together, his brow furrowing as a piercing sense of isolation crawled over him.

…_About three miles south of southeast, counting the grazing plain; _he cringed within. His point of reference had still stayed true through the ordeal, though he'd tried to put any wish of returning to the Ranch behind him. _I'm only a stone's throw away from home._

A silent sigh escaped him and with it he allowed himself to move, pulling himself to sit as his elbow leaned upon a knee, the stiff cover of his sleeping roll bunched about his hips. Was that really what had driven him here? Perhaps his intuition of this place had been nothing more than his unconscious desire to return to his sister, as close as was safe to the whinny of the horses and the green grass of home. He found himself drifting again, pieces of his mind warring amongst themselves as he simply watched on, dancing to the strings of his own inner grief weighed against what was right.

But no sooner did the thought occur did he brush it to one side, a tentative look given to the back of his hand, eyeing the odd birthmark held there. It was hard to imagine the tiny triangle of pigment lighting up to glow brightly, so much so it could signal allies in the dark tunnels of a dungeon. Even now, he could feel the subtle pulse of it in his veins; the light Ashei had seen was in him still, a strange force that consumed him in his most desperate of moments. He knew nothing of it, though he'd tried in vain to call it forth again several times since his escape; if only he could figure out how to control it at will somehow, he may be able to decipher what it was. It eluded him so delicately, whispering strength enough to keep his legs moving through snow and his head above rapids, but whenever he reached out to take hold of it, curious, it drew back and away again.

It was that light which drove him here to the forests, he recalled, dispelling the shadows of self doubt that haunted his mind; it compelled him here, ordering him forth with a strong yearning for leaves rather than snowflakes. It was a powerful ache when he was so far abroad as Snowpeak, and such a soft lilt now that he was here, Link had scarcely remembered it over the haze of traveling. His hand lifted to brush aside blonde bangs as he shifted again, leaning forward to right himself and step quietly from the warmth of his temporary bed, cold earth getting caught in his toes.

Whatever it was in this vast forest the Light had beckoned, he knew he would eventually find, but only if he kept moving.

Without a weapon to his person or a destination in mind, he began to walk away from the small hut, slipping barefoot into the lines of shadow cast by the trees. He was as silent as the animal he was named for so as not to disturb the others, and as if stalking a new scent, steel blue eyes sharpened effortlessly to track his surrounds in the dark; focused and aware, with careful steps to carry him. Ducking under low branches and mindful of fallen logs, each step slowly brought out the Wolf he'd tucked away as the forest swallowed his form.

Not even the single chirp of a cricket went amiss in the array of night-dulled greenery, spider webs found by their shimmer in the moonlight and avoided with fluid ease. His fingertips breezed the rough textures of bark and the smooth surfaces of leaves, his breath fogging out before him as he wandered like so many other men gone astray, though the boy knew he was not lost—how could he be, he didn't know where he was headed in the first place.

Though such a thought might serve to discourage any other, Link felt his steps growing faster. Fog had begun to curl about the dense roots of the forest floor, a chill swimming in it to nip at his ankles; feet beginning to strike the dirt in quick succession. The world was in motion around him as muscle memory took hold, spurring his body into a sprint as the edges of his vision blurred. Trunks of all shapes and sizes rushed past him, stray leaves whipping his skin with tiny bursts of discomfort and his short hair was blown back by the speed to pick up the odd piece of one.

He was running like a wild man born and raised here, heart beating with a strong and steady pulse as he heard the snaps of twigs underfoot, and despite himself, a strange grin began to spread across his lips. Here, just for the moment, he was allowed precious freedom in a world that sought to cage him—no destination in mind, free to roam as he pleased without another soul to be found, ducking and weaving between the limbs of the woodland. There were no cries of traitor to be heard, no eyes to watch and condemn. Branches seemed to claw out at him, taking a swipe as if to halt the boy mid stride, but not a one could touch him. There was nothing to hold him back here; no rock he couldn't leap, the arc of his step swiftly taking him over the roots as they dug deep into the soil to trip him. He knew it all so well somehow, the fear and superstition stripped from his mind as he challenged this place to throw him astray, chasing down any shadow to catch his eye with predatory reflexes.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so unrestricted—it reminded him so sweetly that his actions were not always beyond his control or governed by external reasons.

From between the wide leaves ahead, a moonlit shimmer stole his acute gaze, fixing his new direction as he all but leapt to meet it, the rush of wind around him distorting the tranquil sound of a waterfall nearby. Before his momentum could be altered he felt the soft earth dip beneath his feet, the quick sensation of damp dirt seeping between his toes before a loud splash saw his legs consumed by spring waters. It slowed him immediately, the pleasurable sensation of the water lapping about his thighs as it soaked loose pants, spray from his bursting movement dusting his torso with a refreshing mist. Finally, the boy halted after wading further in, panting in a controlled and steady timing as he stared wide eyed up at the waterfall, crystalline as it cascaded in a white rush down a rocky plateau, holding the moon's camber in its flow.

When he was a child, he had explored the world around him with such enthusiasm, running for the thrill of it, climbing the highest trees and darkest caves he could find. He would search high and low, not knowing what he sought until he found it; rupees dropped in the grass from passersby, the perfect stick to make a sword out of, or a secret spot that only he knew about. As he stood there staring at the pristine vista around himself, he could feel that tiny piece of him somehow returned—he was, for such a simple and innocuous thing, happy in that moment. The boy he was hadn't died with his uncle after all, it seemed, and Link felt a pang of guilt for burying him so soon in his grief.

He'd discarded his childhood so quickly, feeling it was a necessary sacrifice to survive in the tough times ahead, those lazy and carefree days holding no use for the future. But the following years had only seen him corroded by cynicism, growing into a man that would struggle, gaining little reward for all his toil, only to find that he could not enjoy it as he once would have. How many opportunities to feel contentment had he missed, he wondered, blinkered as he was by necessity and bleak absolutes since Tarron had died? Link had resigned himself to the fact his life had become, more or less, a means to an end; only able to provide a scapegoat for their family's suffering, to ensure his sister's happiness where his own had been stolen.

It was bittersweet and strange, almost humbling, to learn that he was wrong.

It came bubbling up from his chest before he even noticed it, a liberated and refreshing laughter, childish and short of breath as the wonder of Faron's lands seemed to capture his affections. He threw his arms up to fall back into the water, cold against his heated flesh and cleansing new scars upon his back, let by the lash. It stole the burn from the still healing wound from Badon's heel-blade as it swam about the stitching, and he could almost feel his internal worry mellowed, replaced by the calming lap of the river as it consoled him.

He could smell oak upon the breeze, and drawing deep, he let go of a contented sigh and with it, much of his tension. As Link allowed himself to float idle, basking in some relief—and the first real bath he'd had since Telma had dressed him as a woman—he couldn't help but recall the strange little bridge and the flow he'd felt underfoot earlier that day. It was odd, he mused, how much water could change while also remaining the same; it could rage aggressively, the undertow clawing at your small canoe with a want to consume you, just as the waters could be still and calm, reflective and restorative with a healing and kindly nature.

It was nothing like Iza's river; the agitated waterway that threatened to drag one under and smash them against its stones, and yet, both this spring and that vicious river were water from the same source. Link, unlike the afro wearing brunette, much preferred these waters further down the way. He didn't doubt that they would one day swallow the flimsy structure of the Boat Hire, wooden supports eaten away slowly by the upper river's underlying rage until it simply collapsed. He smirked to himself a little at the thought, a small chuckle breaking free.

_Perhaps that'd be for the best, though, _he conceded cheekily, _Iza's safety regulations aren't exactly standard… She really should just go back to fishing._

Shaking his head some, wet wisps of his hair sweeping to cling to his face, he couldn't help but think of the way Iza had ranted the whole journey about 'life up in the boonies', as if she was cursed with the worst possible luck, all the while their canoe came within inches of jagged rocks as he and Ashei held on for dear life. So distracted by the shortcomings of it all was she, not once did the sheer fortune of surviving her 'rapid ride' enter Iza's mind—she made her home and business on one of the most fearsome waterways in the land, able to tame it with an uncanny skill, and wondered why she struggled to make ends meet. It was obvious to Link, after the harrowing journey, that the reason was simply because paying Iza for her service was like paying the ferryman in the underworld; her river was one of impending death no sane man wanted to travel.

But the brunette, who did not fear it and would never understand why anybody else did, seemed blissfully unaware of the danger and her own incredible providence as she careened through rapids at breakneck speeds. And perhaps that was exactly why she was the only one it spared, he realized, as ironic humour struck him with another hiccup of laughter.

_She can't see the forest for the trees._

And neither could he, in these last years. He'd marched through his life as if it were only worth the money he earned, the meager scraps of it making him an expendable person that didn't deserve happiness—he'd dropped the crate that had escalated into a murder. A guilt complex had wormed its way into his soul somewhere along the line, and he lashed himself with its whips, denying himself happiness as far as he was able. He'd built up their business and stepped into Tarron's shoes so adeptly, everyone around him thought him a world wonder for his strength and ingenuity. It wasn't quite what it had been, no, and the jeers did not fade completely, but the reality of it was as Malinna had said on the night of the Gala—they got by. Instead of taking credit where it was due, Link had shunned it to continue punishing himself for another's misdeeds, creating his own suffering and concealing it within his hardships. Instead of being grateful for what was left to him, he only mourned what he'd had.

Now, he was forced to realize it—he was just like the river, winding through the lands of his life with different flows and temperaments. He'd lived tossed about by rapids, when the calm waters waited for him further downstream. He didn't need the ranch to be happy, fond of it though he'd always be; Tarron could've sold off every asset to their names, along with the clothes on their backs, and taken his children to live nude in the wilderness for all he cared then. They would have simply been happy to have each other. Link had lost sight of that in his fixation on success, and for all the praise of how alike he and Tarron were—how he would be proud—the boy could see now just how big the difference was between a boy and a man.

So long as he had Malinna, so long as he had Ashei and friends who cared for him, he had a home that could never be lost no matter how large the debts he owed.

A gentle smile curved his lips, his reticent drifting betraying the internal healing he'd managed as the kindly waters washed away such burdens. "I guess it's true…" he mused quietly, gaze flickering between stars. "…You really can't step in the same river twice."

He felt another small chuckle coming on, but it was not his laughter that rang out in the still night air; a childish snicker sounded with an eerie tone, and Link snapped to attention, floundering a little, splashing wide as his feet found the riverbed beneath. Such a quick movement out of a relaxed state left him a moment of dizziness as his eyes were widened to the dark, frantic in their search of the sound's origin.

"Who's there?" he called blindly, ears twitching as they heard rustling and what he swore were the clatter of wooden beads. Turning this way and that, he was met with only the splashing of his legs as they moved, and pausing, he considered that perhaps he had imagined it. Bashful, he pressed his palm to his forehead, letting slip a weary sigh. "...I really should get some sleep… I'm going to make myself paranoid out here…"

Whistling through the air it came, aimed true and launched with great speed, and Link felt it land before he could react. A sharp sting upon the back of his neck caused him to wince, the tiny projectile sure to leave a red mark where it hit. Reflexive, his hand shot to clamp over the abused spot, darting back out in front of his face to assure him there was no blood. It hadn't been a dart of any sort, at least, and with a sudden scowl the rancher turned to scan behind him to find the culprit. Almost immediately his eyes snapped up to focus on the crest of the waterfall, a small silhouette clearly standing there with no intent to hide, a belligerent posture taken up.

The voice of a child drifted down over the sound of the water, cold though somehow familiar, and though Link strained to make out how this was in the darkness, his eyes adjusted to find recognition impossible—whoever they were, a mask covered their face.

"You're lucky I remember the way you smell, or I'd have treated you like any other big person. You got so big your fairy left you, I see… Heh heh… serves you right for leaving all your friends behind."

Caught off guard, the rancher could only stare up at the strange child above, brows furrowed in confusion and suspicion. The small figure looked as if he wore rags, tattered and oddly coloured to be held in place with a strange belt of wooden loops, with a large woven hat of stripped barks. It took a few seconds for him to process what it had said to him, running over the words in his mind a few times in some attempt to decipher the cryptic message. Tense, he rubbed tenderly at the back of his neck, watching this new arrival with a hawk-like intensity as he sent an incredulous glare its way.

"…I don't know what you're talking about." He grumbled low, still more annoyed about the attack than anything, though the imp's choice of words rubbed him the wrong way. "Whatever that was you fired at me, don't do it again. A kid like you should be in bed right now, not all the way out in the forest playing pretend and harassing strangers."

Holding a chastising scowl, Link watched the strange child as it flinched, its head cocking back as if his response came as something of a shock. Silently cursing the mask for hiding the expression behind it, steely eyes toke note of the immediate anger that stole the imp's form, escalating quickly as they began to shake. Small fists balled at the child's sides, and just as the rancher felt an urge to roll his eyes at the tantrum to come, the rustling sound of leaves and wooden beads returned.

As if he was nothing more than a mirage, the child vanished before Link's very eyes; fading quickly away into the shadow. Stunned, the boy would blink, his shoulders tensing defensively in response as he was left frantically searching for them once again. A strange chill crawled down his spine when from the corner of his mind, old stories came floating back with a foreboding similarity—certainly, that was no mere child he had witnessed, and there were legends aplenty to attest to the threats of the forest.

Cautious, Link was frozen in place as he was left with only the rushing sound of the waterfall, steely eyes darting about with concern. He had angered one of the spirits of this place, and Gods only knew what that could mean. Slow movement saw him wading back toward the river's edge, as if he walked upon shattered glass, as he quickly decided it was high time to return to the hut. But as his toes came to squish into the soft mud of the bank, the rustling returned with a small whirl of wind around him, whipping autumn leaves about his body with tiny cutting sensations as the boy gave out a small shriek. Dirt and dust swept his skin with discomfort and it was all Link could do to raise his arms before his face, protecting his eyes as he cringed away with a tiny flicker of panic surging through him. Though just as suddenly as it came, the assault ceased entirely, leaves and twig fragments stricken from the air around him to fall harmlessly to the ground.

When again his eyes opened to peer through the gap of his forearms, the rancher found himself face to face with the imp once more as it stood upon the bank, a piercing yellow gaze watching him through the mask—it was a monstrous thing for any child to wear, and now that he was close enough, Link shuddered internally for such a mistake.

The mask it bore seemed to be made from a skull.

The silence was thick upon the air, a weighted thing, as the pair simply stared a moment more, reading the other closely. The imp was the first to break it, its anger giving way to some bitterness, and it showed through in his tone as it cocked its head to the side. "…You went and left the forest, and now you've been a grown up so long, you've forgotten about them all. Haven't you?"

It still didn't make any sense, but Link knew far better than to dismiss it again—so resolute in whatever he was saying was this creature, it was far better to humour them than raise the ire of a potentially malicious spirit… especially one that seemed to think it knew him personally. Wary, he straightened, his arms slowly lowering to his sides as fingers twitched to betray his concern. Schooling handsome features into as neutral an expression he could muster, the boy lifted his head to acknowledge.

"Listen…" he began, softening his tone though holding firm. "I don't know who you are, and if I'm supposed to, then I apologize… but—" he gestured to himself, simple and without any sudden movement. "—I have to be honest, I think you've mistaken me for somebody else. I haven't been this far into the forest since I was a kid myself. We've never met, I'm sure of it." It was almost pleading, the way he said it, willing the imp to understand.

It didn't seem to sway the child, though, unmoved and unblinking as he returned a silent and judgmental glare. A dark hand covered with leather like flesh rose upward to tap the carved bone of the mask, and Link noted the likeness to wood grain on its skin as he followed the movement closely. It spoke quietly now, as if telling him a secret, though his distaste for the rancher peppered the words.

"I remember the last time I saw you… you were big that last time, too, don't lie. I remember because I'd only ever seen you small before." It paused then, the strange gaze it held dimming some, like a squint. "…You were my friend when you were small. But then you left the forest and never came back until you were like this. Everybody said you'd turn into a Stalfos, but I knew you wouldn't."

Crossing its arms, the child looked away resentfully, the rustling sound accompanying its movements as it huffed a little and shrugged. "I knew you wouldn't be my friend anymore when you came back a grown up. I told Saria you'd be different, but she didn't believe me. But I was right; now that you're big you don't even remember me…" Slowly, much as the imp tried to hide it, the somber hurt behind his words was beginning to show.

Link had listened carefully to the odd tale the child gave, cautious and intrigued though the emotions he sensed behind it sent his gaze downcast in quiet empathy. The more he heard, the more familiar it sounded, and teetering on the fringe of his mind were the quickly gathered wisps of déjà vu. It was possible, he supposed, that perhaps he had known the imp as a child and simply repressed it alongside other things from his youth, the realization of that fact still crisp within him. Despite himself, Link was slowly beginning to entertain the idea that it was he who was mistaken of the two of them, and the child's recount of how he'd changed as he'd grown older seemed to fit as well.

But out of all of it, his ears twitched upon one word specifically, his head rising with recognition shining in his eyes as handsome features twisted into bemusement. "…Saria?"

The child looked to him with the tiniest hint of surprise, giving nothing away, and shifted its weight expectantly. Link could feel the name in tongue, natural and well used, though he'd never spoken the word before. It surprised him as well, the way it rolled forth so easily, and mouthing the syllables in silent thought, he scoured his own mind to trace it back.

_Saria…Saria…_it burned like an itch he couldn't scratch, and closing his eyes to remember, he swore the colour behind his eyelids flashed a verdant green. It sounded so warm, kind and comforting, gentle though spirited and filled with life like the upbeat tune of a flute. _No, not a flute, _he corrected, a melody to match the word springing to mind.

"…An Ocarina."

The change was immediate, in both himself and the imp, as one word unleashed the floodgates of a bygone era; the yellow eyes behind the mask lit up with an innocent forgiveness, expelling even long held anger simply at the prospect of reclaiming an important friend. The dark hand rose once more to the mask, and without a moment's hesitation, the macabre façade was lifted away to reveal the true face. A round face coloured bearing skin like mahogany stared up at Link, bright eyes wide and hopeful as a beaklike mouth smiled faintly. It was not the face of a monster or dark spirit as legend would suggest, but that of a true child much the same as any.

It came rushing back to him at once, like the waterfall behind them, so strongly Link could barely process what any of it meant; images flashed across his mind's eye of a life here in the forest, children followed by fairies of all hues, followed by a strange man selling masks and giving the world an eccentric smile. A moon lingered low on the horizon with a terrifying and unnatural size, just as quickly as it was replaced by the laughter he'd heard before, and the face of old friends. A green haired child smiled at him, her blue eyes as clear as the sky and her song ringing in his ears.

And finally, the face that stared up at him now, waiting patiently to be remembered by a friend… as always.

The smile spread across his lips as boyishly as before, when the rancher's eyes were clear of the past to look, an inquisitive twitch of pointed ears betraying a new sense of recognition.

"…Skull Kid."

The imp very nearly jumped out of his skin when it came, an odd dance of hopping happily from foot to foot matching the grin on its beaklike mouth, wooden embellishments about its form clattering together with the jig. It laughed loudly, the eerie snicker replaced by a childish giggling, as it waved the mask above its head triumphantly.

"You remember me! You do! He hehee!" he cackled gleefully, reaching forward to catch Link's arm and tug excitedly upon it. "Now you can help me make sure all the other weird grown ups don't come back!"

Charmed by such a juvenile thing, the boy couldn't help but laugh as well, blonde bangs swaying lightly as he shook his head and tried to retract his arm, though the imp held firm. He allowed himself to be pulled a little further from the water, the chill of night threatening to cause a shiver now that he was removed from the river's care, but didn't venture far before trying to rein in the imp's enthusiasm some. It was perhaps ironic that he would use a fatherly tone to do so, hiking up the fabric of his pants as he took to a knee, taking eye level.

"Skull Kid, I know this may be hard for you to believe, but just because somebody is an adult doesn't mean they're a threat. A little odd to you maybe, but still…" he drew a pensive breath, thinking of a good way to word what needed saying. "…I'm an adult, and I've got plenty of odd things happening in my life right now."

Though he certainly knew the child somehow and recalled what was said in a strange and inexplicable way, there was still a large gap of things that didn't make any sense. It was as if he was taking in somebody else's memories; seeing lives that weren't his, but provided avenues and information useful to him in his own. He didn't understand how, or why, but after all the imp had said, he felt he needed to be honest about it at the very least… He knew, as he'd suspected in the beginning, that the imp had him confused for somebody else. _Who_ exactly was an interesting question, but one he sensed couldn't be answered here, so there was little point causing more hassle to pursue it—not when he had a better question to ask.

Running his hand through his hair, the rancher eyed the imp with seriousness, twisting the words exchanged between them to his advantage. "I need to ask you something important, since I still don't actually remember a lot of… well… you mentioned me leaving the forest and coming back when I was grown, right?" his brow rose subtly, and he saw the confusion sweep the imp's face.

Receiving a slow and reluctant nod, Link lifted the arm being held to draw attention to his hand, pointing to the birthmark he had there as he eyed the child carefully. "Did I… have a mark like this the last time you saw me? Or, at least… did I have a light that sometimes shone from my hand?" It was a vague query to give to someone he'd, in all respects, only just met, but if the memories Skull Kid seemed to jog were important—if all these memories and visions were connected and crucial to what Sheik was really up to, and why he of all people seemed a threat to it—perhaps the child would hold another clue to unlocking the puzzling force within him.

The yellow eyes seemed to dim as the Skull Kid's head lowered in thought, the playful tugs to Link's arm growing slack as the imp genuinely seemed to search for such sight in his recollection. Almost as if it would help him in the endeavor, a dark hand rose to scratch at the woven hat he wore, rather than his actual head. After a good minute or so of thoughtful humming, a slow and slightly unsure nod followed, its gaze peering off as if watching the memory before him.

"…Yes. I think so… If you were thinking that's why you didn't become a Stalfos even though your fairy left you and you were a grown up…" it whimsically prodded his hand for good measure, as if checking whether the mark was painful or not for its own curiosity. "…Then you're probably right, but I don't know. I think I saw your hand glow, once…"

Turning its head skyward, the imp added an afterthought that Link may well have dismissed, given the casual tone with which it was recalled—it obviously seemed like an unimportant detail to the Skull Kid, and though neither would know it, his next words shaped the very outline of Destiny.

"…But then you put the sword back and it stopped, and then you left again without visiting your friends even once."

It shot through the air like a flaming arrow, and struck the boy in the heart with an importance he simply couldn't place. "Sword?" he uttered, seizing upon the word like a starving man did a banquet, though his eyes had become unfocussed; his keen mind had taken in every detail, it seemed, piecing them together in his subconscious. Now, with that final element added, it had presented an old family heirloom—a story—with crisp acuity. Malinna knew the damned thing off by heart, but Link himself had never paid enough attention to recall it anymore then to be reminded of it now.

He never did have a good attention span as a child.

The imp gave him an odd look, something of ignorance mixed upon apathy, and offered a simple shrug and a tilt of its head; its own attention span waning with childlike speed. "If that's what you came here looking for, then you're too late. It's not here anymore." It seemed distracted suddenly by something in the trees, and a beaky frown began to cross the imp's face. "A big group of men came and took it. I'm glad they did, because they were wandering about for a week; I only got them to leave yesterday… Once I figured out what they were looking for, I opened up the forest to let them through, and then as soon as they dug it up, they turned back to wherever they came from."

Once again, Link found himself at a loss for what exactly the child was on about, but something in the nature of his description unsettled him greatly. If there was any doubt before as to the worth of this sword, Skull Kid's testament laid it well to rest; large groups of men don't brave the forests for light treasure. In the pit of his stomach, churning with a wild and desperate sense of panic, the boy found he already had a good idea of who the men were, and with it a familiar scowl seeped across his face.

No doubt the Regent had seen fit to flex his new army of soldiers.

It was all beginning to click together now—just he'd heeded the call of the Forests at the behest of this force, so too had Sheik. It seemed to be something akin to Divine Will at play, entwining the two men in a paired destiny that neither one could escape. Malinna herself had told him that only the Goddesses could pass judgment, and that if his assumptions about the newly crowned Regent were correct, he would be given a sign that it was his right and purpose to cleanse such evil from the world. Telma and Ashei both could attest firsthand to the boy's peculiar connections to the Sheikah, the bar matron once even going so far as to say he was 'something special', and later risking her own life to see his protected on such a notion.

The light shone to save him from his chains, its strength flared when he'd sparred with those who would cause harm to himself and others, and guided him when he felt lost. Clearly, he was being driven to succeed in the duty it had charged him with.

This sword, for whatever reason, seemed to be the tie breaker between Sheik and himself; the winning hand in a game of chance, the grain to tip the scales indefinitely. That was the reason he was drawn here—_sent _here—to the lands of Faron. There was no other explanation, especially now that it was obvious the Regent had known the call just as well as he, taking measures to secure it.

He needed to find out why, and more importantly, if he was correct he needed to get it back at all costs. Fortunately, though, the story that may shed some light on it was, as he'd noted earlier, only a stone's throw away… but the risk, at this point, was dire—Link was not foolish enough to think that his ranch was not, at the very least, well monitored by the authorities. His family could be put to death on the charge of even associating with him after the King's murder, not to mention the chance of his own recapture.

Whether or not it truly was the intervention of Gods that lay at the heart of this force within him, this light that breathed purpose and courage back into a weary soul, he may never know, but Link could infer that its source must've been tethered closely to his enemy as well. The Regent knew the game better than he did, evidently, knowing this force could threaten him if, it seemed, it was combined with this sword. Perhaps he even shared the strange power with Link himself; Sheik holding his own twisted end of the rope that bound them in this tug of war—for all Link knew, the Regent fully intended to wield the weapon himself, for whatever power it may grant him.

A conflict of light and dark forces, though they both shared a single origin.

_The same river, different flows._

Breaking him from his internal deductions, the child's voice came snidely, blissfully unaware of the havoc wreaked by its dislike of adults. "It'll take a while for their stink to fade, but at least they're gone. I'm going to build traps in case they come back though."

Link would not tell Skull Kid what he had accidentally done, nor hold him in contempt for it; after the innocent and immediate forgiveness the imp had shown him, despite his long held grudge, the rancher could only return him the same kindness. Hiding his newly discovered concerns, he simply turned the imp a reserved smile and moved to stand, his gaze traveling upward to track the stars once again.

A plan was coming together in his mind as he thought back on the day's events; Sheik had a castle, a defensible position, and an army to back him. But Link had already discovered, in the time he'd spent there, that there were weak points to be exploited—tunnels to be infiltrated, guard rotations to slip through, numerous halls to hide in, and a plethora of soldiers to impersonate. But the forest was another matter entirely; open expanses that saw brave men lost, the thick of it poorly mapped, and surrounded by rural areas that Castletown soldiers rarely traveled, if ever. He knew these lands well, born and raised upon them. There was, in that sense, an even playing field to be found… the forest was just as defensible as a castle, when one knew the advantages of the land and his enemy didn't.

And after all, he'd made a friend here… and where there were friends, there was home.

_Where there are allies… there's a stronghold._

"On second thought… Maybe I will help you keep them out, after all."

**A/N:**

**Goddamn, all the metaphor and epiphany and mental progress in this one was a headtrip to write over the course of three days working.**

**Late nights and slight insomnia is great for writing in the sense of free time to do it in, but not so much on the being awake enough for it.**

**Anyway, I originally planned to write the part with Badon and that getting the sword, but when I tried to start on it, it just seemed off track to me. Badon isn't main enough a character to have his own segment with no others, and it was just turning out kinda boring since we all knew what he was gonna do anyway.**

**Also, more past hero memories for Link, and a cool spot for Skull Kid in there, because he's an awesome way to throw back to foresty themes ala OoT, with a little MM on the side for the friendship theme.**

**Also, Coro will be awesome later on, I can just feel it. The dude's way too much of a laid back hippy to not provide comic relief. **

**Anyway, Link mini-arc over, and next chapter will be back to Ganondorf and Zelda's affairs.**

**Onwards to Glory.**


	26. Capes and Councils

When one takes the baton in a relay, passing from one runner to the next in hopes of reaching the faraway goal through legacy, the two athletes become—however briefly—the same person in essence. Fulfilling the same role, providing the same actions, and most of all, seeking the same end; much the same could be said of Royalty, in the way it passed its duties down through lineage, each ruler seeking providence and peace for their country.

And much like athletes bore the same banner, as her father's baton had been passed to her—both literal and metaphoric—Zelda took to providing the next link in the chain with the same eclectic manner she often showed all of her endeavors; donning the cape he'd once worn.

Far too long for her small stature and trailing like the train of a wedding dress behind her, the crimson cape swayed aflutter to her gracefully swift steps as she marched down the hall. It swept the plush carpet that covered stone as a whisper, falling from slender shoulders as its ornamental clipping drew attention to a swanlike neck, golden curls feathering across the back of it. With the Royal crest upon its silken fabric, splayed out in a joyously proud gold, it brought many an eye to spy it ponderously; residents of the castle finding it an odd and perhaps, juxtaposed sight upon their Princess.

But with a glass jaw held high, their curious looks and scrutiny did nothing to sway Zelda's want to wear it, serene features bearing a smile that suggested she found nothing amiss.

There was a bounce to her today, something cheerful and relaxed, though a regal posture betrayed a new found sense of authority. Rightly so, it seemed, for the girl was headed for the council chambers in order to lend her voice to the approval of her marriage—a simple thing, a mere agreement on her part to terms her fiancé had already set forward, and the only flimsy barrier left between her and the event. This day marked not only the first time she would be seriously looked to as a leader, listened to and the words she said respected, but also would cement the days of a Princess firmly behind her.

She wore her father's cape not only for the posterity it would lend her, but the transference of his status as well—she was, in all rights, a Queen; perhaps this symbolic regalia may remind others of the simple fact, also.

As she rounded the last corner to see the high arching windows spill light onto her carpeted path, the ornate double doors of the council chambers in view with all the imposingly exquisite designs they bore, Zelda found herself sparing and odd thought as to how beautiful her home truly was. From the gardens—and her mother's roses—to the stained glass in some halls, the decadent colour of tapestries and painted landscapes, and all the features carved in the masonry; her home was one she didn't necessarily require to be content, though found impossible to under-appreciate.

And standing to receive her, ever attentive, was a man that perfectly captured the feel of home to her, himself.

"Any longer and I'd have thought you wouldn't show, Zelda. The old men are grumpy enough as is, without you trying their patience as well."

He never seemed to change—she was constantly adjusting, trying on a cape two sizes too big and kicking off shoes that now seemed too small, finding different ways to wear her own form; Shiek always wore the same looks, same attire, and of course, the same subtle smirk.

Her smile grew, sending him a fond look as she drew near, a slender eyebrow curving cheekily with a tilt of her head. "Well, they'll just have to get used to it. They never held qualms with my father for taking his time… at least not in a way that he was aware of… I should be treated no differently." she giggled then, and with a purposeful flick of her wrists, brushed the sides of the cape so that it would flare behind her. Crystalline eyes shimmered, bright and expectant as a coy curve played on her lips.

With a light tapping upon his bicep over crossed arms, the disguised Gerudo arched a brow at such a thing—he'd noticed the cape the moment he saw her, she didn't need to draw attention to it. If anything, it seemed flamboyantly out of place upon her shoulders, but then, he supposed she would expect him to tell her honestly what he thought or at the very least, gauge his reaction to it accordingly.

…_She'd better not spend the meeting flapping it about like some child with a new toy, _he thought, a tiny streak of embarrassment in him for such a notion. _…Though, I suppose she hasn't a crown yet, so the cape is something of a stand in._

Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, he humoured her, a cynical and slightly amused scoff drawing back his smirk; somewhat hidden this time as his crimson gaze flitted sideward to the window. "Why? Because you decided to make a fashion statement today…? Bravo, Zelda. Really, that intimidating shade of red should still send them all cowering." He couldn't help the snicker that followed, watching her delicate features twist into a pouting frown.

Her victorious sort of mood faded a little as the girl slumped some, arms limp at her sides as she eyed him with a look of apathy, returning his sarcasm nicely. "Just because _you_ wear the same thing everyday, doesn't mean I can't add a new article to my repertoire every now and then." She sighed, shaking her head as she let it slide, and took satin gloved hands to her hips with a tired look. "This was my _father's _cape, Shiek. I'd have hoped you would recognize it."

Simply unable to hide his laughter—made impossible by the tight nature of his garb—he let it loose when he noticed Zelda's ire at the tremors in his chest. "It looks ridiculous on you. It's too long, it's the wrong colour, and clearly, tailored far too broadly for your shoulders, Zelda…" stifling it quickly, he coughed, clearing his throat as he regained himself and hiding the remnant grin behind a fist. "I mean… Of course, it _is _a wonderful sentiment, my Sweet, but really, this isn't the time for it just now."

Zelda gaped at him, pointed ears giving a twitch as if to confirm what he'd said, running over it twice for good measure. He hadn't really just told her to be rid of it, had he? Perhaps not directly, no, but the insinuation that he would prefer if she didn't wear it seemed clear enough, and it struck a nerve within her. Crystalline eyes narrowed, the fists on her hips falling to the wayside as she took a daring step forward to glare up at him.

"This is _exactly _the time for it, actually, given we're about to set a date for the wedding! My father would have given anything to be present for such an occasion, and I'm certainly not leaving him out of it if I can help it!" she cried, hissing like a cat in water as her arm swept back to grab the cape, holding a corner up to him in point as she frowned. "This is the symbol of a great leader. This cape signifies everything my father achieved, every day that he wore it, as a King; everything I would hope to match in him, and also, a reminder of where he succeeded as opposed to where he failed."

The supposed Shiekah blinked down at her, surprised by such a strongly held belief in the object, as he found the humour stripped from him to be replaced by a grimace and the furrowing of thick silver brows. With the way the girl carried on, he would think she required it to breathe inside the chambers behind him… but something was occurring to him that seemed a dangerous thought to entertain—once again, it seemed he was giving her far too much leeway, these little allowances of influence affecting her in strange ways. With the way she was talking of her father so fondly all of a sudden, clinging to this old cape as if it proved her own worth somehow, Ganondorf noticed that her opinion of the late King had shifted into a far more positive light.

Again, he was reminded of himself, seeing some of his traits reflected in her; but these were not favorable for him. Much like he had, when finally liberated from years of living underfoot of the Hylians, the girl seemed all too keen to flex newly gained powers. He'd caught it early, fortunately, but the similarities were there—a haughty Zelda, who thought herself a leader and took to such a role with an inspired appreciation of her predecessors, was a dangerous thing to his own hold on this country. As Queen, and the blood ruler of the land no less, her opinions in council could begin to hold more than his, and her orders may be taken to override his own should she not agree. He would outrank her as King, yes, but subtle differences in influence could circumvent that entirely, provided she stayed the beloved wonder of the people she was.

If her confidence grew too large, her role may overshadow his long before the cycle came to be, and given the movement of the would-be Hero, any slacking of his control whispered of dangerous repercussions; especially if Zelda decided to do things without his consultation, as he often did with her.

_Well, then…_he mused internally, a vicious streak of self preservation overcoming his affections for her growth, _perhaps it is high time she and I discussed the makings of a true ruler._

Tucking it away for later, he offered her only a hint of such malice, carefully concealed within a dismissive look of what seemed to be hidden disappointment. "Very well, Zelda… wear it if you must. But if you think dressing the part will make any difference to the quality of your new reign, I would advise you not mention such notions to the council." He turned from her, hiding a cruel smirk as he caught a glimpse of her face falling, and settled a large hands upon the door handles. "After all, you know well how they feel about childish ideals."

The Princess paused, her heart plummeting as his words sunk in with a painful truth—he was right, at least, about the council's opinions. She couldn't quite tell if he'd insulted her in any of that, the crawling feeling under her skin seeming to suggest that he had, though there was every chance he was only trying to convey how others might perceive it. A soft and quiet sadness mingled with some confusion, like a child told they were too old for their security blanket, painted her formerly confident features as her gaze turned to the fabric she held still. She bit her lip as her eyes briefly traced the design emblazoned upon it, and suddenly, she did feel quite childish; Gods only knew what the councilmen might think of her, judgmental and withered faces stoic with disapproval, if she waltzed in 'playing dress-up' given the events of late.

Shiek was right, it was a lovely sentiment and something she might enjoy privately, but for the moment, it was out of place; not to mention potentially damaging to her if the council did not approve, she realized, rather than serving to cement her place as Queen.

"W-wait…" her head snapped up, a satin gloved hand snatching the back of his uniform to tug upon the cotton, halting him from opening the doors. "Can… you help me unclip it, please? I'll… I'll just carry it, folded, instead… you know, for the sake of decorum…" she trailed off weakly behind him, crystalline eyes down turned and bashful. "I still want something of him there, after all… Even if it is just a cape to hold his place…"

Smiling to himself with a dark satisfaction, he lingered only a moment more before his bandaged fingers slipped silently from the brass, turning back to face her with a much more welcome look in his eye; approving. "Good form, Zelda. You don't want to risk upsetting the favorable reception we've had thus far…"

A step forward let him take to the ornamental clipping, dexterous few movements taking his concentration as the Princess avoided his gaze shyly, the occasional glance given to the fingers as they worked to free her of the cape. The faintest shade of pink tinted her cheeks for their exchange, and as the spell of security was broken by the removal of her father's mantle, Zelda felt the nervousness she'd suppressed flooding back with a vengeful twist of her stomach. Her hands fidgeting to pick at the skirts of her dress, when her attendant brought the silken garment before her, she was quick to snatch it from him in order to hide the old habit; folding it over her arms to hide twitching fingers.

She looked something like a scolded child in that moment, the woman who had strutted forward to greet her fiancé banished by discomfiture, and the disguised Gerudo noted it with a carefully concealed nod to himself, pleased already with the result of a little heckling. It was always good to reaffirm that although Zelda's wisdom often put her in the realm of an adult, the child he first encountered was still present enough to provide exploitable weaknesses—it was perhaps a fact he didn't often admit, due to the sexual nature of their relationship, but at fourteen, the Princess was only barely into the advent of puberty and still swiftly growing.

As far as what she would become, though she was certainly on track, he still wasn't quite out of the woods yet; not until he had his full Power at his disposal to quell any other options the girl may decide upon.

With an expectant look, lifting her chin so as to catch crystalline eyes, the disguised Gerudo forced an amicable smile in order to placate her some. "Now then, if we can finally get this over with, I'll take you out to Lake Hylia for the rest of the day. It's been some time since we've spent a day out together, hasn't it?" he offered innocently, with a caring sort of tone; _Besides which, if we're away from prying eyes, there won't be a scene after our little 'talk'._

Hesitant at first, the Princess still somewhat demoralized about the cape, her voice seemed tiny as her hands shifted beneath the material; a lost sort of look upon usually serene features. "Shiek… Do you remember how my father used to always have everything about me 'just so'?" she began, a tiny amount of sadness behind it.

Her pointed ears twitched some to the low growl he made, as if warning her not to pursue it as his crimson eyes sharpened their focus on her own, narrowing a fraction, though with him holding her chin to force attention she found herself unable to retract it. Drawing a slow breath, she continued quietly, blinking long lashes as her brows furrowed and her gaze flicked downward in thought.

"I understand, given it _is _the council, why you would ask me to remove it… But…" her eyes returned to him then, steeled despite her nervousness for the meeting. "When I _am_ Queen, I will wear whatever I please… And though I love you, I won't let you micro-manage me as my father did, even if it would help me politically." Lips pulled thin, her head straightened further, pulling out of his hand. "I appreciate you looking after me, but sooner or later people are going to see me for what I am, and not what I present; whether that's opportune or not. _That _will help the quality of my reign."

A tense and private moment passed, the air around them growing thick with a flicker of wills as they clashed, and though it was not the first time they disagreed, it did herald a potency that most of their quarrels lacked; quiet and calm to betray the serious nature behind it.

The man was stoic as he, too, straightened to his full height, staring down at the girl with silence. His expression did not warrant anything dangerous, nor would it imply that he held any qualm with her wishes, without a single twitch to his features to read. But behind crimson irises, flashing gold in the light as it spilled inward from the windows, anger began to stir stronger than before.

If the girl did not wish to be 'micro-managed', as she so succinctly put it, then perhaps he would have to show her the puerile worth of her own decisions—how futile and useless they truly were—so that she would decide against them herself… before this streak of independence grew any stronger. He needed her to keep himself sane in this place, depended on her to cleave to him for her every choice and thought so neither of them would be led astray; the Gerudo craving the comforts she provided far more, it seemed, than the girl was beginning to need his. It was only a seed, fragile and unwatered as yet, that she bore. He could pluck it from her plains before it sprouted with ease, though this new penchant for rejecting his influences—even to small degrees—was interesting.

Where she once found the sanguine twisting of a father figure in him to turn to, now that they would be married, she wanted only a husband.

_But she forgets her own ridiculous culture, _his mind hissed; _Queen or not, she is her husband's property._

Turning wordlessly from her, the double doors were wrenched open with purposeful force, the rough handling the latches received allowing a loud click to resound through the chamber beyond, mingling with the oddly dimmed musings of the men inside. Stepping forth with all the semblance of a King, Ganondorf let his gaze roam to judge their reception; a grand marble arch above the doors set the tone immediately, rows of wooden seating holding a small audience of scholars and elderly looking men at all sides, a factual and crisp atmosphere about them. Silence fell as the pair ventured inward, steps muffled some by the royal blue runner of carpet underfoot, and underneath the hollow eyes of effigies placing faces to the Goddesses themselves, a strict air of scrutiny filled the large chamber.

The Gerudo focused upon the ornate wooden throne, held high upon a dais with an inviting call of velvet cushion, and despite his previous train of thought, he cringed internally as he decided not to take it up. No, given the nature of this meeting, and the appeal resting upon Zelda's rise to formal Sovereignty, it was far more prudent to allow the girl—if only for the men watching them—to take her place there instead. At the helm he swept to one side to stand, casting a stern and watchful eye over all those gathered, as he held out a large hand for Zelda to take. Regaining a pleasantly happy smile, the Princess was quick to take the offer, delicate hand allowing his to guide her softly into the small throne as the folded cape was sat neatly upon her lap.

Fortunately, the skirts of her dress still hid bare toes well enough under their shadow, wiggling with simultaneous excitement and anxiety as the tiny digits were.

Crystalline eyes scanned the chamber with some wonderment, viewing it with an entirely new perspective—she barely even recognized it from this vantage, though she tried to recall exactly where she was. She felt so elevated, though the dais wasn't physically that high; small and isolated, put on a pedestal for close inspection and knowing any flaw, any mistake she made, would be obvious as she sat there. Her heart began to flutter with something akin to stage fright, her gaze flitting about with a frantic want to focus upon something, anything, enough to give her some stability in the sea of harsh and weathered faces. She had never really dealt with any of them, save a few of the elder members who had given their personal advisory to her father; often present when he chastised her as well—in fact, most of them invoked some sort of negative memory from her childhood in one way or another.

But then she spotted a familiar smile among the stoic cynicism, a loose bow tied at his thin neck and round spectacles bringing a shine to cheerful eyes. Sir Shadrian was a part of this council too, and she had his full support… and that alone seemed to settle some of the butterflies in her stomach as she found her voice at last, clearing her throat silently in preparation of her first address to the Privy Council.

"Gentlemen, I assume you all understand well the subject at hand, as I'm sure you were made aware while I received the honorable visitation of his Holiness, the Sage Rauru of the Temple of Light. There are a few matters to be taken into account here, and I would ask that no man here take lightly any issue with which they have also been made aware of, so that they may voice it within this meeting." Her head tilted upwards, regal as she mimicked the ghost of her father. "That aside, this is as much about pending threats of national security as it is of early marriage."

Though she thought she did quite well, unfortunately, Zelda found herself met with a myriad of odd looks and a stiff silence that pressed an awkward hesitation to her once again. Her eyes lingered upon the members gathered, before a careful glance was sent to the Shiekah beside her, a question in them as she noted the thinly veiled surprise upon his harsh features.

_Oh, Gods, please tell me I haven't made a fool of myself already, _she pleaded to herself, her hands restarting their idle fidgeting beneath the silken cape.

After a moment, her attendant leaned close to her ear, whispering with subtlety and holding back what sounded suspiciously like a chuckle. "…Usually, Zelda, one simply starts by declaring the meeting open, and giving your 'Honorable Counselors' your permission to begin."

"Oh." She breathed, a tingle of mortification swimming down her spine as the man pulled away, and swallowing the feeling, she decided to simply roll with the new pace she'd set as she willed her face to remain the pale colour it was.

"Shiek has informed of the usual proceedings that take place here…" she began again, glad for the fact that her voice did not crack with the volume she used. "Though, before this meeting is officially opened, I might add that I have never been, nor do I intend to be, terribly orthodox. The fact is, Gentlemen, that there is little room for tradition under the severity of what we face, and as I have been made aware of crucial details before this council, my role today among you will not pertain to simply approving Orders."

Her heart beating in her pointed ears as the various eyes stared up at her with stale expressions, she looked to Shad once more, and seeing the silent nod he sent her way, decided that she'd said enough to appease. "…Let us begin." She finished quickly, almost forgetting to say it altogether.

No sooner had she said it did a flurry of activity fill the stark room; shuffled papers, hushed whispers, and the dipping of quills, until finally, a stout man rose to catch her eye, raising his hand as he did so to adjust his notes. His clothes almost seemed to neat upon him for his large stomach, a gold pocket watch tucked neatly into his vest pocket to suggest an anal obsession with time keeping.

"I might commend you on an… intriguing start, Your Highness, though the first issue of business is one that the people have pressed upon us gravely." He offered in a self-important and nasal tone, drawing nods of agreement from about the room. "Under the careful deliberation of these esteemed members, we feel it is far too long in keeping now that the fugitive from justice, one Link Lonell, be kept a private matter settled only in the hands of the authorities. The public outcry for his execution is one that can no longer be ignored, nor provided until his capture."

Zelda's slender brow furrowed some, her attention immediately caught by this, but the Regent was quick to answer this matter before she could so much as part her lips.

"As I did brief you in our last meeting, cut short though I was by interrogations into that very affair, Chancellor, I recall leaving this chamber with the express order that a solution be presented when next the issue was raised." Came a firm and powerful tone, commanding and smooth as if the Shiekah could flatten the stout man with just his gaze, if he so chose. He stood waiting coldly for such a thing to be provided, and the unnerved chancellor seemed to shrink some, flipping through his papers quickly.

The Princess watched her fiancé with interest, the very mention of Link all but stricken from her as she found herself mesmerized by his suddenly dominating presence. The man stood firm, stepping once outward to bring himself to the forefront, the imposing muscle of his shoulders squared and hands held neatly behind his back in a military fashion. He'd barely done anything, and already the girl could see all eyes had turned to him, a quiet submission etching itself onto wrinkled faces. A part of her mind told her to take in everything about him, in this moment, so that she may potentially use some of his technique herself in future.

"Yes, Sire, of course…" the chancellor began, a little more humbly than before. "It is the suggestion of this council that his bounty be extended a further hundred thousand rupees, to be opened to the contracting of professional assassins and, as an added measure, a specifically delegated group dedicated to his capture. We have also found it prudent, given the evidence against her, that one Ashei Delmoran also be added to his bounty in accordance to the raised reward offered, or else fetch twenty thousand for her own exclusive capture."

Allowing a rather sadistic smirk to sweep his face, the disguised Gerudo waved a hand eagerly, gold flashing in his eyes as he did so. "Approved. Have the scribes prepare letters with the amended terms and send them to the outposts, and ensure wanted posters about the settlements are changed immediately." There was something greedy in the way he said it, rich like a contented purr and smug.

"Also, Sire, given the prowess witnessed of him, perhaps we may also amend his bounty to account for death in obtaining him?" came the voice of another member, rising quickly so as not to miss his opportunity.

The change was immediate, as almost every man flinched under the sight of a fearsome scowl. "As discussed previously, he is strictly to be captured _alive_. No more discussion will be placed on it." He growled low, eyeing the thin man so severely the offending member paled as he reclaimed his seat. "Was there anything else, Chancellor, or may we continue?"

The Regent needn't even look at him to receive a prompt response. "…No Sire, all other business was resolved in our last forum."

A grunt was all it took to close the issue as Ganondorf brought bulky arms to be crossed upon his chest, the imposing tap of fingers against the tautly covered bicep bringing with it a few looks of apprehension from below. The council, by this point, knew well of the Shiekah's temper; better known than that was his inability to be swayed or pandered to, and once the Regent had spoken, he remained resolute on all matters. Whether or not it eluded them all as to why Link's arrest could only be accepted with such a traitor brought back alive, of all things, it was not an issue to be challenged.

To Zelda's mind, turning it over in her head and inspecting it with a thoughtful pause, such an order did find some sense—she had expressed her wishes to kill the boy several times, though given Shiek's penchant for protecting her, she could easily guess he would not share this with anyone else. Morbid though it may have been, the thought that her fiancé would go to great lengths to see her own personal vengeance was satiated was one she found oddly sweet, and despite herself, a fond smile slowly found her lips.

Her attendant's gaze met hers briefly, a knowing look exchanged before Zelda put her smile to work on the others. "Well, then. I suppose that leaves the rest of this meeting in my hands." She chimed with a saccharine tone, playing off the lingering intimidation left by the man beside her. Tilting her head some, golden curls tumbled over her shoulder as she skipped straight to the issue, trying her best to borrow some of the Shiekah's presence.

"As I mentioned earlier, the visitation of a Sage betrays the danger lurking upon our horizons." Zelda let those words sink in some as she gathered her thoughts, thinking on how best to word it all, icy pink lips pursed. "As you all recall, Shiek's appearance and subsequent service to my family heralded a blessing as well as a curse, for he brought with him a prophecy, sent at the behest of a deceased elder of his clan. I don't doubt my father would have held a rather serious discussion as to appraise this council's up keeping with Hyrulian history… I should expect every man in this chamber to know well enough of the Great Cataclsym."

Much to her relief, the next member to stand was her personal favorite; tentative as he removed the small spectacles from his face to hold her attention.

"Quite right you would be, Your Highness, and I can personally assure my own hand in such an effort." Sir Shadrian was, at that moment, perhaps the most serious she'd ever seen him; the elderly scholar drew his lips thin, as if reluctant to continue. "…Though we have yet to be made aware of the content of your meeting with his Holiness, the bleak reality of it is, quite frankly, that his appearance did send a bit of doubt about our security running rampant through this chamber."

A slow murmur followed that as the wiry man sent a glance about the room, drawing a breath to steady himself as his colleagues showed some unrest. "We could infer for ourselves what was relayed, of course, but with your permission, Your Highness, I would posit we are safe in our assumptions that the Evil King of Old is making his return rather shortly?"

The Princess felt herself grow silent as the gravity of those words hit her again, satin gloved hands seeking to smooth the fabric of the cape in some attempt at comfort as she allowed a solemn nod. A slow blink of long eyelashes showed even her hesitance to speak of it so forthrightly with others, but she found her voice again if only for the fact it was Shad.

"Yes, Sir Shadrian. You would be correct." She winced some as unrest flooded the room, heated whispers of fear and desperation seeming to stem from the suspicion confirmed. Bringing up her hand in an apologetic and calming gesture, Zelda's voice was raised to ring clearly amongst the subdued panic. "Rauru has informed me, in no uncertain terms, that He has broken his bonds and his influence has been unleashed upon the world once again, though it is likely he is biding his time until the cycle begins on my sixteenth year. The Sage has given his blessing upon the recovery of the sacred artifact heralded for the Evil King's defeat in the last Era, so I would implore you not to take the false burden of blasphemy upon any of yourselves in that decision."

While all of this was being said, the disguised Gerudo found it difficult to keep a smirk from his face, artificially pointed ears drinking up the sound of fear in the hushed voices like a fine wine; savored and appreciated with a connoisseur's taste. To see the Privy Council quiver at the mere mention of him, even the most pompous and stringent of the men reduced to unsure hosts of paranoia, filled him with a satisfaction he could hardly contain; given such close glimpses into the inner workings of these minds, it would take no more than a well placed description of his intent to see hysteria claim the chamber.

Tempting as it was though, the councilmen were in a perfect state to capitalize upon the real issue at hand; nestled so nicely between a rock and a hard place now that the marriage would see no resistance at all. Cocking his head toward the Princess, the subtle rise of his brow sent the signal, crimson eyes sharpened with impatience as his ward read him clearly.

Returning her gaze to roam the chamber once more, a sanguine tingle of power flowed through Zelda's veins; the council she had always been dictated by was now in the palm of her hand, and with a little prodding from her husband to be, even the most rigid members would stumble desperately to satisfy them. It had taken some time to sink in; an unsure start giving her pause, but it was clear to her now… this was her domain, and she could only be controlled here as far as she allowed. As a matter of fact, she could appoint and dismiss members as she saw fit—there wasn't any need for her to deal with these men of her father's any longer if she found the task a chore.

"As to the proposal of my marriage to the current Regent, for the sake of this country's stability in the early ascension of its next Queen, I invoke my right to Royal Prerogative in the absence of my father's approval, to appoint that duty to myself as backed by this council. If we are in agreement, the date shall be set two months from now, taken on the first day of the third. I trust there are no objections?"

Not a hand in the room was raised.

Both the Regent and the Princess were quick to stifle their laughter, each now thoroughly amused with it all, and the ease of which it had been granted beside minor scare tactics. As the room swiftly devolved into private deliberations and worry, the pair stole a moment to themselves, leaning in closely to whisper amongst the din as their victorious smiles went unseen.

"It's happening! Shiek, it's actually happening, we're going to be _married!_" she giggled with all the excitement of a schoolgirl, her voice reaching a higher pitch than usual as her happiness shone brightly in a perfect grin. Elbows upon the arm of the throne as the girl propped herself upon it, very nearly sitting sidelong in her seat, a bounce overcame her in a childlike joy.

The disguised Gerudo found himself distracted by the tussling of her golden hair in the movement, his gaze tracing the curving shine of it in that fond fascination he held; his anger from earlier almost abated for the moment as her good mood seemed to rub off on him. "Yes, Zelda, I knew that we would be…" he conceded softly, though the tone seemed to suggest some relief at the fact. "But there is another matter to attend to, once the current mood over matters of security settles some, if you get my meaning…" a glance was sent sideways to indicate the stress levels swiftly rising around them.

Though Zelda would blink, expectant for him to continue, whatever it was he had to say didn't seem as though it would dim her mirth. "Oh? You mean what we discussed about the soldiers?" Her brows furrowed, though her smile didn't leave her, a hiccup of laughter slipping out. "…Yes, you should probably leave that for the next meeting, Shiek. I don't think anybody wants to hear your plans to dismiss half of the guards at this point; there isn't a man in here that isn't at risk of a heart attack already."

A black humoured chuckle met her at that, a small shake of his head seeing bandaged fingers running though shortly cropped silver hair. "The council is well aware of the costs of upkeep where an army is concerned. It's better to be rid of the many useless wastes of resource employed here, while we still have some peace left to us, to focus on making up for it in forging effective elites. I'll give them some time to settle, but I will see it done."

The Princess gave him an affectionate look then, serene features brightened by her contentment as crystalline eyes shimmered with it, her chin rested upon a palm. "You always do." She smiled, her voice lilting sweetly between them.

It almost pained him to think that he may spoil such a beautiful face with bruising later for earlier insolences, but despite the affects she often held on him, Ganondorf was determined to see her charms did not sway him from his decisions—there was still plenty enough left that could happen in two months alone, and the rebelliousness he'd witnessed had to be squashed if he was to ensure their future security. Even with the happiness this day had brought her, even if he left it until tomorrow in sheer mercy to her, she was akin to the wild horses of the field she so admired; broken in with great effort, and kept tame through constant reminders of the saddle.

Crimson eyes took to studying the pendant necklace she wore still, the ruby in it cut to mirror his intentions; overwhelming to the fragile gold that held it in place. He knew it to be far more precious to the Princess than a simple cape, and somewhere in his twisted mind, the Gerudo knew he would always overshadow her father, but he simply couldn't stand the room she'd made in her heart for the King since his death.

And if he had to rip the beating organ out of her chest just to remove that piece of it, placing it back once again and stitching her wounds, simply to know that it was his and his alone…

He would.

**A/N:**

**If anybody actually knows what one of those meetings is like, I'm sorry if I butchered it.**

**I realised, pretty quickly into this, that I totally don't. I mean, I have a rough idea, and I know—at the very least—bits and pieces about who a Privy Council functions based on the English one… Lucky for me, Zelda didn't really know either, apparently… But still, it's one of those scenes that better left to Fictionists like Selah Ex Animo (because as far as medieval accuracy can go in Zelda fics, that stuff is some of the best I've seen).**

**Buuuuut I tried anyway. **

**It was gonna be longer, but I'm running out of energy now, and I need to sleeps, so if I continued it'd just get progressively worse. So I'll just continue it next chapter… Badon is coming home.**

**Onwards to Glory! (until you run out of energy.)**


	27. The Highest Price Paid

The skies were a painted backdrop of twilight as they sprawled out along distant dunes, horizon blurred to a lazy whip of the winds and framed by the worn black stone of the bridge of Hylia. Upon the shore of this grand lake, the breeze reached warmly to caress grass and sand, a slow ripple sent over pristine waters to mar the golden reflection of a fading sun. It was a welcome end to an otherwise stressful day, washing away the nerves of sitting in court with a tranquil sense of closure, and be it the faint glow of fireflies or the tender sway of the reeds as an omen, the wind whispered of good fortune.

To Zelda, as it swept through curls of blonde, that wind should've taken with it her doubts for the future. But when the girl found no solace in the peace of the Lakeside, ever thoughtful of the future, she tried to distract herself from the matters at hand, instead.

Peach toned hems were held high by ungloved hands, toes twitching eagerly as they skimmed over small rocks, each of them like islands in the crystal shallows as she found them. With a childlike contentment, the Princess ventured as far from the bank as possible, keen of balance as she hopped and knelt to inspect the treasures of life the lake held. Pausing, the girl would bend quickly, catching a glimpsed flash of silver with a catlike gaze as minnows swam about before her. Pointed ears twitched to the music of nightfall; the soft rhythm of frogs and the odd splash unseen, lullabies lilting from the trees as day-birds went to rest.

A small giggle stole her lips as she dipped a slender finger past the surface, amused by the tiny fish as their school shattered into a flurry of chaos, only to reform around the next rock as if never having been disturbed. Crystalline eyes were bright as they watched, and Zelda saw reflected in such simplicity the way of her world—when times of hardship fell upon Hyrule and her people were scattered by fear, it was that separation that drove them further into despair. When they were inspired with hope, drawn together by the actions of the few and the banner of a Hero, it was only then that they prevailed over the perils that threatened them.

A Hyrule united would always see them through the darkness, and no matter their losses, it would always rebuild.

But as the thought ran through her mind, reassuring as it should have been, she felt her delicate features contorting into the lines of worry instead. Despite her efforts, even in the face of all security and precaution, she simply could not be at ease. Soon Hyrule would have a noble King once more, and somewhere a Hero yet stirred to bring order along with him, and she would have his blade ready when the time came to use it. The logic was there, and her sharp mind was wise beyond her years; in such progress, Zelda knew no reason to feel as though she was losing ground...

It was not thought that brought such a notion to her, but feeling. Deep within her heart, doubt had blossomed to leave a crack in her fortified walls, allowing fear and uncertainty to seep in. With each passing victory, little things overcome, she had been as assured of them as if Zelda was laying the stone herself. Why then did it feel as if that crack was slowly being worn open to lead an army of destruction through it?

Tearing her gaze from the little world at the water's edge, the Princess turned her head to look back, cupping a wayward lock behind her ear as she scanned the bank. Never far from her, she spotted her company with ease, reclined at the foot of a large rock and watching her with subtlety over the pages of a book. Something about Sheik had struck her as odd today, though Zelda had kept such comments to herself—the day had been more or less bereft of affection or good humour, despite the approval of the council on their pending marriage, and the girl had begun to wonder of his thoughts.

_He hasn't really said two words to me since we got here, _she realised with concern, rising upon the rock and making her way back to shore; _we came here to spend some time together, not for him to brood. _A pout followed her train of thought, and frowning to herself, Zelda's feet quickly found the sand once again with every intent to pursue promised 'quality time'.

From where he sat, it was easy for the supposed Sheikah to hide his displeasure behind a tome, idle and reticent as he bit back on his temper, watching the girl frolic like an idiotic child. Ganondorf had allowed his ward the day trip he had mentioned this morning for only two reasons—preventing an opportunity for her to raise his ire any further, and netting himself a well earned respite from the gossips and banal duties he now attended to. It was almost nauseating how blissfully unaware of his wants she could be, though to his chagrin, he had to admit that such was not her fault entirely. But Zelda's earlier defiance, flaunting her father's cape as though it was some trophy to attest her rights to rule, deserved nothing more than the beating he wished to give her. The crimson garment was a fitting cherry to top the string of difficulties she'd presented him of late, questioning his every action and slinging her opinions where they were not welcome in a frivolous grab for freedom.

The very least she could do, if the girl had any semblance of respect, was to allow him time to swallow his anger instead of padding toward him like a lost puppy, neglected and hoping for kindness. But unfortunately, she knew not of her transgressions, and he was in no position to enlighten her without repercussion. As fond of her as he'd become, in his odd way, the Gerudo simply needed his space from time to time in which to gather himself appropriately, recoating a silver tongue and steeling his dwindling patience.

_But neither can I let her to her own devices, lately... A rock and a hard place, surely, _his mind hissed.

Artificially pointed ears perked when her soft footsteps came to a stop beside him, though Ganondorf would not even grace her with a glance, affixing crimson eyes to the book as an aloof expression claimed him. "...Grown bored with the fish already, I see." he muttered bitterly, fighting back a sneer. "It isn't their fault they cannot bow before their future Queen. Do forgive them."

Zelda's amicable smile swiftly turned to a frown at the tone of it, though as she didn't recall anything she could've done to sour his mood, chose to dismiss it as she settled on the ground with a ruffling of skirts. "I haven't grown bored, Sheik... As a matter of fact, watching them allowed me some time to think." she offered it gently, adjusting her legs and picking at the grass blades idly.

Though her gaze wandered him in silent curiosity, he did not return it. At the risk of being ignored, Zelda found herself leaning to capture a look from him, blonde tresses falling over her shoulder as slender brows furrowed. Her fingers had started to tap before he sent even the briefest of glances her way, and with a roll of muscled shoulders came a reluctant grunt of acknowledgement that made the Princess' teeth itch.

She slumped as a heavy sigh escaped her, damning him for his swinging temperament, though continued as her attention drifted to watch the fireflies by the reeds, cupping her chin to lean. "I know we've made good strides in preparation... Everything is telling me I should feel better about our future, but I just... don't know if I can. I keep getting this feeling, as if I've neglected something important, somehow..." it felt ridiculous to her, as if she spoke to the insects around them rather than her fiance, but she supposed he would at least listen even if he pretended otherwise.

Shaking her head lightly, Zelda ignored the waves of isolation washing over her. "As I was watching the minnows, I thought about how this country stands united to overcome its evils... But then, I look around and even after all we've done, it still feels like its just us against everything."

From the corner of her eye she saw him shift slightly, but with a nervous scrape of her nails against her cheek, couldn't find the courage to look for fears he still ignored her—every second her flesh was denied his gaze sent her heart plummeting lower in her chest, and it almost left the girl feeling ill for how eerily similar it was to her father. Icy pink lips pursed, very nearly silenced by a sudden self-consciousness, and her question came an unsure whisper as the Princess willed him to answer.

"Doesn't it just seem... wrong to you? It almost makes me think we're headed in the opposite direction, as if everyone is just being scattered in all this chaos, when its now of all times we should be banding together..."

As if she'd spoken some incantation that would bring a statue to life, the disguised Gerudo moved suddenly with an agitated jolt, catching a twitch of surprise from her as his back met stone. The book was resigned limply to his lap, held there as a fallen barrier and ready to be raised again quickly for her dismissal; even to strike her with it. Crimson eyes levelled the girl with a hard stare, far colder than she was used to seeing though familiar enough to her now, and the dim light seemed to darken his ever present scowl all the more as his jaw clenched tightly.

"_Wrong_?" he growled, offended by the word even as it slipped through his own teeth. "What on this earth would you know, _child, _of what is _wrong_?" Though he had tried to hold it back, the dam of his anger was too quick in filling, and running a hand through his hair to waylay violence by occupying it, he leant close enough to hear her breath hitch. Taken aback, Zelda only managed the first squeak of a word, cut off as her attendant seemed to tower overhead even where they sat.

"Don't you dare answer that, Zelda, or I swear I will knock the venom from your fangs." as he spat his warning, all the life around them seemed to still with caution, sensing the fury in him.

The night air seemed thicker all of a sudden, incredulous to alert Zelda's senses, much like a child glimpsing a monster nearby and unsure of their surrounds after receiving the fright. She stared at him unblinkingly, as if he wore a different face, and in the dim light the Gerudo saw her features lined with offence. The fireflies were the like false stars against the streaks of murky black that now tainted the sky, the last vestiges of sunset orange framing her face as Zelda gave an icy reply.

"Then why don't you explain to me, Sheik, what exactly you would consider _wrong?_" it was not a question that left her lips, but rather an accusation, thinly veiled as it chilled the air before her.

Throwing away any of her softness to die with the setting sun, she caught the glimpse of rare surprise crossing the Sheikah's face, and chased it down with all the cruelty he so often turned upon her. Ganondorf noted the change immediately as the Princess sat upright, straightened to gain some height back and in perfect mimicry, prove that she was still very much a product of his handiwork; pinning him with a spiteful gaze.

"The fact that my father was murdered, to me, is wrong... And yet we've used it to our own ends, leaping at the opportunity to marry, regardless of any reassurance for our country's stability that comes of it. Moving the Master Sword, by any right, is wrong... and yet, we would spit in the face of a holy sage to make it so, swapping reverence for convenience on a gamble." Each word was like a gavel, banging with a sharp jolt, unable to be ignored though Zelda spoke with an even and calculating calm, serene features stoic and pale.

"That there is a Hero out there, and we've done nothing to seek him out, is wrong. That Talleday had to die for a servant of evil to be born, is wrong. That you are using Badon's affections for me as leverage, only for us to set a wedding date while he does our bidding, is wrong. That we would make dozens of loyal soldiers obsolete, in favour of training and recruiting only those fit enough by our standard, is wrong."

She stated each one so crisply, matter of fact, that the disguised Gerudo could barely hide the twitch that overcame him, his gut churning as he sat torn between violent anger and desperate concern. It was by a hair's breadth that he escaped her condemnation, he knew, ears strained to pick up on any hint as to where this may lead. These were things that he had done, forcing her hand where it was required, and though at present the Princess listed them as shared crimes, the fact that she was so acutely aware of their moral transgressions was a bleak herald for when she decided to play Queen.

There, in those crystalline eyes, he caught a flicker that filled him with a hideous and familiar sensation—recognition. For whatever fanned it, Zelda's eyes held the flame he despised in that instant; the very last glimpse he'd had before his imprisonment long ago, banished by it as her ancestor stared him down and locked him away. That noble and damnable conviction seemed bred into her very bones, and though his necklace would hold so much of her at bay, perhaps even she had her limits of manipulation.

For all the wrongs she had listed, playing this moral field with bias, he was not about to let the others go astray—if his enemy truly was alive in her gaze, then she would pay for it with the harsh truth owed to her, and know the bitter sting of it as he did. Though Zelda drew her breath remorselessly, eager to continue, he filled that pause cleanly with a stern though tactful tone.

"...That an entire race would be sacrificed," he began slowly, regarding her with an honest glare as wind rustled through the reeds, "Crushed and broken, left behind and forgotten, in the name of _peace..._ is wrong."

It stopped her immediately as it rolled fogged into the night's chill, stripping the Princess of her tirade and quelling the words she'd prepared as the spark in her eyes dulled. With a blink of long lashes, her conviction seemed to leave her, and with only a sentence her mind was sent reeling back to a memory. Not so very long ago, high above where they sat now, the sun had set here upon the gift of a blade—the very dagger that even now, beneath tussled skirts, was strapped to her thigh. She had been so flippant as she'd inspected the gift, priceless artefact that it was, taken with the quality of it and only half hearing his fond lesson for a lost culture's beliefs. Through the layers of fabric slender fingers sought the hard outline of its handle, and like the fading breeze, the words on its blade flowed through her with a strange double meaning.

_Strength, by the grace of our Goddess... _And yet, here they sat on the banks of Lake Hylia, named for another Goddess long forgotten. But where Hylia lived on in her to be a beacon of hope for her people, lending them her strength if only as a benevolent ruler, Din had lost her daughters to see it sustained. For only one man's actions, the rest were damned with him; their beacons stolen and snuffed out by fate, reduced to ruins half buried in the sands.

It seemed only fitting that the dagger was hers, knowing her actions in a past life had helped seal their fate. What little Din had given them, Hylia had taken back and spread among her own.

"..The Gerudo..." she whispered, small and absent, as if she—like the rest of the world—had forgotten them as her brows furrowed. "I... I didn't even... think..."

But as she trailed off, he continued, letting silvered hair rest against stone as he took her up on this game, determined to show her which high horse she rode. "To take a boy of nine summers from his home, indenture him in the fate of a land he knew nothing of, and steal seven years of his life only to return him to the past when his toils were done... _that_, Zelda, is wrong."

The story of the Hero of Time flashed through her mind with stark acuity, and no matter how she tried to turn it, Zelda knew he spoke the truth. She shook her head, fumbling to justify it and recast a kind glow around the legend, wishing she could deny its hidden darkness. "Sheik, it... He would have wanted... you know as well as anyone that it just... had to be done..." she searched the ground pensively, as if the earth might relinquish her answer for it, though she only found a stab of regret in its place.

A cynical chuckle rumbled from his chest, hollow and quiet as he raised a finger to wag, fighting back a smirk as he gained the upper hand. "Yes, Zelda. These things simply _had to be done_ in order to prevail... it didn't matter if they were cruel, or unfair. History is never so simple as to make accurate the fairytales children hear, and fate is never so kind as to let you gain success without sacrifice. You know this better than anyone, but you are still young..." a small sigh followed as he felt this small battle won. "...your naivety tells you to fight for ideals, but when the time comes, Wisdom will show you the harsh nature of necessity."

Ganondorf did not shy away as the Princess often did under his own verbal assaults, and as a clash of wills came to a halt, he allowed himself to relax back into a high-handed approach. "I _had_ hoped this outing might have done you some good... refreshed us both even, but here I see the quiet and calm was wasted and turned to immature quarrelling." he mused, scratching his beard thoughtfully as he baited her. "Perhaps you prefer the busy and exaggerated life in the castle, now that you've a new toy crown to play with?"

The glint of gold shimmered to his inflection, glowing with a morbid truth that made the hairs on the girl's neck stand. "The King of Evil will have no trouble, if he is to snatch the crown from a child's hands. A true ruler knows loss... and will make sacrifices to protect what they can. But here you sit clamouring to salvage broken pieces and glue them together again, when all is said and done, simply to feel good about the poor decisions you make before they are proven lacking."

Zelda's ears twitched in search of any other sound, scanning the area for the soft ribbiting of frogs or the lilt of the birds, only to glean a chilling silence as his voice filled every gap—she swore she could hear his words reverberating off the high bridge above to echo down a second time, whipping across her skin like fire. Her fingers sought the soft fabric about her lap to hold and knead, pinching it between them to ghost the blade beneath. She felt herself shrinking before him, at a loss for what to say or do.

Sadly, Zelda found an answer within her, and resonating with a sharp acuity, she realised he had a cruelly given point. "...Bad form...?" she whimpered, as if fearful of the phrase, like the words were a whip to be cracked.

Biting his tongue to stop the chuckle for seeing such conditioning vindicated, the supposed Sheikah simply offered a curt nod.

Blind-sided by her apparent error, her lip quivered before she could stop it. "I'm sorry... you know how much the change in things means to me. I wasn't going to let it the crown overtake everything else, but I can't help... enjoying some liberties, finally." she swallowed against the dry itch in her throat, and unable to do more, Zelda found her gaze dropping to the ground between them as she stuttered her confusion. "...I'm just... I _am_ trying to do the best I can to prepare, as well. But being Queen has two benefits for me, really... it's also the only avenue I have to be accepted, rather than changed. You know that."

Even now, the events of that morning flashed across the Gerudo's mind like the wink of a blade, potent and foreboding enough to cause a shiver to trail his spine; this talk of her being her own person and ruler, unhindered by other's whims and 'micro-managing'. Such a ridiculous request from her, ironic and laughable if not for the strong belief she held in it. The late King had certainly done a number on her, if the Princess clung to it still. It made some sense to him, when he thought of it, that the girl might cast a posthumous glow about her father's memory, taken in the manner he was. Perhaps Ganondorf should have even expected it, given Zelda did not grieve as one usually would for such trauma, and even then, he had all but taught her not to. He should have known it would take another outlet, and one did not have to think very far to arrive at emulation, though given her dislike of the man in life he hadn't truly accounted for her opinion of him in death to improve.

_All her father ever did, I suppose I have matched_, he mused internally, casting a pensive glance to the first stars as they appeared above them, _control is all she's ever known, between him and I... perhaps she feels as if by filling the gap he left, dictating her life by her own measures in his place, she can seize what little control is left to her if I begin to disappoint._

With a scoff of disgust, the disguised Gerudo withdrew to lean against the rock once more, and crossing bulky arms before him as the book was set aside, his eyes turned to view the lake. "I suppose I should commend you on your patience, Zelda. At least you had the good graces to wait until your early ascent to the throne was _approved_, before you started acting on your whimsy." he spat each word sarcastically, bitter as he capitalised upon the day's events.

"It's a miracle you and I hold status enough not to be thrown from the court. You can have your individuality when you can afford it, and you know I would always encourage such a thing," he lied, "But like it or not, this is no time to be throwing away what little respect you hold in your peers to break personal boundaries early."

Growing desperate as what she'd been promised was pushed even further from her reach, the Princess' hands had wandered to clutch at the grass, tugging at it to ground her. "But you said yourself, when we first talked about this...! You told me I could be my own person when I we were married! You promised me I wouldn't have to live like this any more; hiding myself away behind some shallow mask, spinning to their tune like a doll on strings... It isn't fair, Sheik, it _isn't_!" for the first time in quite a while, her voice straining as she fought back a sob, her eyes shone with tears she'd thought long banished.

Her face was the very visage of agony, the soft curves of it melting as her hope and happiness fled them, replaced by silent anguish as her heart pleaded mercy. A slight rock had taken her over as she poured over their plans, wondering what other comforts the world sought to steal from her, locking them away in some ever more distant morrow.

Though by this point a feral smirk would have crawled across his mouth to stay, Ganondorf found no need to hide one in the night's shadow, bereft of the joy he usually took in these sessions of theirs. He didn't linger upon the sweet flavour of her expression, nor offer any consolation by touch or glance, as his attention was swept up by the sound of winds whipping through distant dunes.

"I know it's difficult..." he conceded with a softer, almost empathetic tone, "...chasing a treasured goal, and waiting stifled by the walls of circumstance. It is a terrifying thing, feeling as if you may lose yourself to what the world asks of the face you present them; realising the divide between is flimsy at best... but you set yourself a routine, live by one goal at a time, and leave aside the rest until it is done."

Though she would likely never understand the depth behind those words, as the Gerudo spoke genuinely from behind his false identity, reflecting on his time here and before, he knew the girl could appreciate a prisoner's wisdom. "It's the only way to keep yourself intact, through it all, when you build your own cage in the struggle to be free."

Helplessly, she cast a forlorn look across the calm water as her voice faltered, threatening to crack as emotion swept through her. "...Even engaged, I'm still coddled by my attendant. You've always acted on my best interests, protecting me and allowing what happiness you could scrape together for my benefit... You know I actually thought, over the past few days... that you were no better than my father, guiding me through my own life as if I wouldn't know where to start." she conceded softly, inclining her head to stare glossy eyed at the Sheikah as she curled a finger through strands of blonde.

"I forget to think you would also protect me from myself. You're always calling me back to reality when I get caught up in fantasy. If it were any other life, I wouldn't have needed you in the first place... But in this one, maybe I really _don't_ know where to begin... Because here you are."

Biting down on her lip, Zelda felt foolish for having fought him on anything, now. Knowing him these past years... so often she had excelled above others, able to debate her points with authority, backed by a wealth of knowledge and sense. Sheik was her muse to do so, filling her with all the fire she needed, but when her flames licked at his mind Zelda always found them doused. She could never catch him out in error, no matter how evident it seemed to her at the time.

The Princess had always questioned the world around her, the people in it and how the strings of fate could be pulled; in a life that threatened to pull her along, fitting her into a preconceived mould and punishing her when she didn't fit, she supposed it was only natural that she wanted to know all she could and seize upon any advantage to be found there. No matter how she struggled, what great efforts she put into fighting it, Zelda was always bested by destiny—she had a role to play, and nothing she could do or say would allow her to deviate from that.

It was obvious that Sheik had always known this, and though he'd tried to make it clear to her, she realised now how she had ignored him, rejecting it with apprehension. Perhaps even her father had known... the whole world could've known the truth, and she remained the only one so blissfully unaware, unable to see the damage she caused for it. Zelda had wished so many times to simply be left in peace, to be recognised for the person she so wanted to be in a life that rejected it, and evidently, had little need for it. The Princess had kept it safe all these years, fed it false hope and cherished it as her personal treasure, but finally, defeated in a last hurrah, she let it go as a hot tear slid down her pale cheek. The misguided individuality she'd clung to as a child would not haunt her as a woman, for it would lead them all to failure, and the proof of that was present all around her.

It was _she_ who was 'wrong'. If Hyrule was divided, if its people had scattered, it was because of _her_ failing to guide them. She had been selfish and childish, ignoring the pleas from others and denying them the pillar of stability they deserved; fleeing from her destiny to prolong the inevitable and trying desperately to forge a new one in its place.

As she sat there upon the dirt, staring silent at her attendant, she felt a part of her die, small and insignificant as it seemed to be. Reduced to a whisper, she sat on the verge of breaking, a small tremble taking over her delicate frame. "...It's me that has driven everyone away, isn't it? They see the person I want to be, instead of the person they need... and lose faith because of it..."

With a silent sigh of relief the disguised Gerudo appraised her, swallowing the pity that bubbled up in his heart as he offered a bandaged hand, extending some small modicum of comfort. "That you can recognise this at all," he purred, his bitterness taking leave of him now that his Zelda had returned to his preferred disposition, "Is truly a mark of Wisdom. Come, my Sweet... I know it's hard, but I'm proud of you for facing it."

As trembling fingers left her lap to seek his, the warmth of his touch and the subtle curve of his mouth were the seal upon her self loathing, and the tiny Princess could only succumb to her master. The broken child would crawl, hidden from the eyes of the world, to cling fast to all that she knew; the man who governed her, locking her up in a box he called 'love'. Despite her promises to herself, beyond even conditioned control as she curled upon his lap, Zelda wept. Empty sobs mourned the passing of herself, lost to the curse of her name as one of many, and through it all he held her as his eyes wandered West with victory.

If only Zelda had known that there was no salvation in the comfort of him, perhaps her destiny may not have held such pain.

But the daylight had faded quickly during their exchange, casting shadows through the trees to paint claws upon the earth, reaching out as if to pull the damned pair deep below the water and drown them together. Far from the water's edge, stalking the very cusp of the fields as far as the scattered treeline could hide him, another stood at fate's crossroads as the shadows tugged his attire—for all of Zelda's misery, as if to offset her loss, Courage flared with a soft and growing pulse of inspiration.

And unlike the Princess, Link was swiftly gaining ground.

Darting further from the forest line, careful to hide among sparse foliage, the boy ventured outward and far from his humble camp near Coro's abode. His steps were quiet as soft leather crunched the grass beneath, one hand held to the sheath upon his back for fear of it knocking against bark. He was a streak of shadow as he tore from one trunk to the next, inching closer as sharp eyes scanned the property line. Through shrub and long grass he waded softly, crouching low for the Wolf stalked prey this evening, mindful of the rustling to be caused as soft earth shifted underfoot. When finally twitching fingertips grazed the splintered wood fence he sought, Link released a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. Kneeling still behind a slightly off-center post, leaning past to peer through blonde bangs, his heart raced with both joy and dread as he laid eyes upon home.

Despite everything they'd been through, the ranch never seemed to change, and though he'd hardly noticed that timeless quality before, in that moment the boy was truly grateful for it. Not a single detail was spared of his attention as his gaze travelled to find them, homesick and desperate to be reunited with them—the barn twice as tall as their house, half painted with a coat of white that seven years on remained unfinished as the skeletons of paint pots rusted away in its shade, nestled neatly between coils of rope and a barrel. Set aside of it grew one proud oak, its canopy spreading out like an angel's wings as a tyre swing hung from its branches and planks of wood sat nailed to its base, forging a crooked ladder.

Caught by memories, Link slowly found his feet to settle a hand upon the fencepost, idle as he searched the dim lit area, guided by the soft light of the porch lantern. Even the homestead looked much the same as when he left it, somewhere between a log cabin and a townhouse as mahogany beams mingled with white plaster, framed by humble square windows. Though he supposed it had no reason not to, to Link it felt like an eternity had passed by; some small part of him had almost expected to find cinders, smouldering ruins in the vague shape of foundations.

Swallowing the urge to simply jump the fence and run across the dirt and gravel, hopping the broken step to hear the creak of the wooden landing, the boy cast a wary eye around himself instead. Pointed ears twitched as they searched for sounds in the night air, mapping those familiar like a whinny from the stables or the whine of a mosquito—there was something amiss that he couldn't quite place of yet, but at the very least, the ranch seemed untroubled by local authorities for the moment.

_But, that isn't necessarily a good thing, _he reminded himself, cautious as he lifted a leg over the fence, _I haven't got any idea what kind of routine the guards have, or how many patrol the area... and I know Sheik isn't fool enough not to have **somebody** stationed here._

He was slow to arch over it as his sole pressed down on patchy grass, his touch lingering upon the wood as the boy started toward the house, hand held there until it slipped away with distance. Brown pants were streaked with smears of green from his journey through the woodland, and with them the white cotton of his shirt had been ripped by wayward branches—Malinna may well have skinned him alive, were he to return to her in such a state prior to his exile. It almost made Link feel guilty, as he retraced the familiar path of gravel, that he would go unchastised given the circumstances or his visit. He raised a hand to his mouth, biting down upon a knuckle in an odd sense of recompense for it, sullen as the ritualistic mothering his sister pressed on him was privately replaced.

Skipping the broken step in habit, Link cringed for the creak the extra weight tore from the other, flinching tense to grip the railing as he crept across the landing, trying to lighten himself. Blue eyes followed a lone moth about the hanging lantern, hesitant to knock and finding distraction from it, but the boy sighed as he shook his head.

"...If I'm gonna be caught, I'm easier to spot out here..." he muttered quietly, pushing himself onward as he gave the door a quick few taps, timed in code. _Shave, and... a hair... cut..._

The boy's hand fell limply to his side as he waited with trepidation, the first stirrings of panic threatening to take hold of his heart—what if they had taken his family into custody, like Telma? Concerned by the thought, his gaze wandered sideward to trace the silhouette of a rocking chair, empty. At this time of the evening, Ingora could always be found there, packing his pipe with tobacco as the old man wiggled his moustache, bragging to Malinna through the kitchen window of how hard he worked as she cooked them all supper. She'd roll her eyes, as she chopped a turnip or a carrot with finesse, a wry and forgiving smirk on her lips as he went... and Link, ever faithful, would chuckle and nod with Ingora's ramblings, balanced lazily to sit upon the wooden railing.

It was so painfully obvious then, hitting him like a brick from the side; the ranch was quiet and lonely where it once bustled with activity and the humdrum of their daily lives.

His heart nearly skipped a beat when he heard the growing pad of footsteps behind the door, pointed ears twitching to drink it up and affirm it as real. Bangs whipped across his brow with the speed of his head turning, wide eyed and alert, as his lithe frame tensed ready to bolt if it was not who he expected. The boy nearly flinched with each small sound; the latch unclipping, the jiggle of the handle. Finally, as the door gave way with a dejected and cautious creak, Link threw away any doubts he had in coming with the glimpse of pale fingers and the shine of auburn hair.

Through the crack, Malinna peered out into the night, baby blue eyes blinking as worry left them. Her visitor smiled in the flickering lamplight, lopsided and familiar, tilting his head out of the shadow with tender care painting handsome features. For the briefest moment, she considered it another of her hopeful dreams, fallen asleep on the couch with a good book as she often did, or tired eyed from crying as she searched the horizon from her window. Staring up at him, she hardly remembered to breathe, unaware that her hand pulled the door open in welcome.

"...Link?"

The boy very nearly trembled at the sound of her voice, joyous as he shot forward to claim her, unleashing his tension into a spirited embrace. His grin doubled with laughter, relieved and whimsical, as strong arms lifted her off her feet. She gave a yelp of surprise, gasping as he lifted her, and the corners of her mouth pulled upward in awed wonder as he spun her in the doorway, just as he always had before this nightmare had begun.

"Link! You're home!" the redhead nearly choked as happy tears blurred her vision, her arms wrapped about his neck as one of her nightslippers fell away. "Nayru's mercy, I thought I'd never see you again...!" her voice was muffled into his neck as she nuzzled there, the warmth and scent of him grounding her—she never wanted to let him go again, and even as he set her to the floor, she held on tightly.

Settling hands about her waist, Link could only smile down at her, shaking his head in disbelief of the moment as steely eyes regained some of their shine. "I know... I can hardly believe I'm here at all... it feels like so long since I've been home..." he offered softly as she drew back, relishing the familiar feel of her fingers as they took to his loose collar, picking at it as her gaze fell to their feet.

"I'm so glad you're okay..." she half sobbed, content enough just to know he was well. "It's been so empty here, since you've been gone, I... I could barely stand it..." an untamed fringe swayed softly in the breeze, hiding the sanguine mixture of sorrow and comfort, and Malinna swallowed back the sadness with an overwhelmed laugh. "I've never prayed for anything more in my life, than just to see you home again."

Link's smile lessened some, drawn back by reality, as his hand rose to lift her chin. He could hardly find the heart to say it, staring into his sister's glassed eyes, though slowly his features twisted into sullen apology and his voice came a gentle whisper. "Malinna... You and I both know I can't stay here. They'll have us both killed. It's bad enough I'm putting you and Ingora in danger, just by being here tonight."

The hurt that flashed across her pretty face was like a stake in the boy's chest as she seized up, clutching his shoulders as she tried to forge some sort of argument, any excuse to make him stay, though she knew he was right. Her gaze drifted to the hilt of his sword, tracing it with a regretful glance, and Malinna gave a heartbroken sigh as long lashes closed.

Biting her lip as if it pained her, she nodded, lessening her frantic grip upon the white cotton he wore as his thumb swept a tear from her cheek. "...I know, Link. I do. Part of me would rather die for it anyway, if it meant just another day like were all were... It ain't right of me to feel that way, but still..." her brows furrowed to crinkle the top of her nose, as her hands began to shake with hidden anger. "I can't even begin to tell you what I would've done to prove we weren't traitors... and what I would do to those bastards now! Damn his eyes!"

"Calm down..." he soothed, serious as he tried to quiet her, his hands moving to her upper arms to encourage some restraint. His fingers were like ice against her fire-warmed flesh. "I don't want you talking like that, Malinna. You just leave getting even to me, alright?"

Stealing a glance at the rocking chair, the boy sought to refocus her, a gentle though stern push given to usher her inside. "Where's the old man? Is he safe? He hasn't tried anything rash since I've been gone, has he?"

Frowning as she shook her head, trying to prioritise her thoughts, the redhead took nervous hands to smooth her apron as she stepped across the threshold. "Ingora is... well, I don't know... No, he hasn't any more than usual, but he _has_ been on the bottle a bit lately, and..." she turned to face him as Link closed the door quietly behind them, sending him a helpless look of worry.

"Well, he ain't pulling punches with those soldiers keeping tabs on us. He drove a few of them to get reassigned, so I hear from a friend, but the old bugger did get into a bit of a scrape a few days back. Smacked some high and mighty Krin or some such right onto his backside, after finding him roughing up Epona. Haven't seen that git since, but that might not be a good thing, even if I'm glad to see him go..."

Link listened with a careful concern, letting habit guide his steps no further than the small mat underfoot until boots were cleaned. His worry for the old man's antics seemed to be overshadowed, however momentarily, by the mention of the boy's horse and, despite himself, Link fell pleasant and fond with a distracted smile. "Epona... How is she doing?" it was a hopeful whisper, an awkward shuffle of his boots betraying a need for good news or none at all where the mare was concerned.

Malinna hesitated some. "She's good, Link... She stopped eating for a few days at first..." her eyes seemed humble and honest as she fumbled with her words, but a small curve to her lips gave Link hope. "I was worried for it being colic, so I lost a few nights sleep watchin' so she wouldn't roll." she let a cynical laugh come as she swept her fringe. "But you know how sturdy she is. Ain't nothing wrong save her missing you, is all, and she's slowly taking back to eating again... She's probably mourning you, sad as it is..."

The soft look given to her from beneath blonde bangs was a sneaky, sorry and almost selfish one, as the boy tugged shortly at his pant leg. His chin inclined, and he hoped his tone wouldn't be rude, though his voice seemed desperate when it came. "Malinna... I... I was hoping I might take Epona with me. I need a mount I can trust, and she's as fast as lightning, it'd be—" his foot shot forward to step, but he halted suddenly, biting back on his plea. He had no intention to come here and take away what may be their only reliable horse left. Steely eyes left hers, ashamed for it, though she gave an understanding smile.

"She's your horse, Link... If you need her, it's more than we do." He could almost hear the lie quivering in it, but before he could retract to catch it, Malinna marched onward to leave it behind. "Speaking of Epona, Ingora did say he'd spotted some wild horses earlier. I had my hands full here, trying to keep the crows away from the grain... We haven't got much left, now, and you know how stubborn he can be. A few horses could definitely bring in a bit of money..." her head tilted self consciously, and with a side glance added, "...We would never sell Epona anyhow, so don't you go saying we could've. You take her, and not another word of it."

Sliding back into old thoughts, Link slumped with unspoken guilt, wishing he'd never asked of the sorrel mare—he felt like a vulture picking clean the bones of his old life. Nodding with some disbelief as he swallowed the subject of his own horse, he took to dreading what trouble the old fool had gotten himself into now. A defeated look was shot her way and let his hand slip from the door handle. "We haven't seen wild horses this far south in years... Don't tell me he went out to wrangle them by himself? And on top of that, who exactly does he expect is gonna break them in if he does, by some miracle, manage to rope even one? He's getting too old and you—" Link stopped himself there.

Malinna ignored it, returning him with an exasperated shrug, swinging her hands high in surrender as a heavy sigh left her. "Don't ask me what goes through his head after a bottle or two, but we've already sold off the herd... less than half the price of what they were worth, but you know old Gorman down the way is a sucker for bargains. We're lucky he wanted to do business at all..." Tucking a thumb under the top of her apron, a shaken hand brushed the wood surface of a side table to collect dust, leaving streaks in the wake of her fingers. With a hint of despair, she sighed and took to patting her thigh to be rid of it, and Link could easily see how weary and beaten down his sister had become.

"I don't know if he went after the horses or not, but either way, he hasn't come home. I was fixing to look for him, but then... You're here, and..."

As he listened to such troubles, his heart sank further for his family, and painfully Link realised just how much damage had been wrought upon their simple lives once again. His absence had not been kind to them, and though he'd expected as much, it was a horrible thing to face in reality. The two of them fell silent in the small hallway, avoiding the other's gaze as a great many things went unsaid, yet perfectly understood, between them. Link swore he could almost hear their thoughts and pains echoing off the wooden beams above, his feet shuffling idly as distraction, the toe of a boot tapped upon the mat beneath as he traced the faded patterns on it.

Drawing a tentative breath, the boy dared to step further into his old home, drawing deep of the scent of it—warm air, somewhere between lavender and hay—to ease him. "I'm sorry, Malinna... This is my fault, everything that's happened to us. We've done nothing to deserve it, sure, but it's me all the same." despite the sad tone, when he lifted his gaze to see her forgiving face, a small smile betrayed him. "I don't know if I can fix any of this. At this point, we're probably just going to have to let go of the life we've built here... and I don't want you to feel as though you need to stay here and struggle, just to keep the ranch going for my sake. Anywhere you are is home enough for me."

"Link..." she raised a hand as if to stop him, a kind heart ready with words of reassurance, but Malinna could only give him the truth of it as her brows furrowed, fingers curled and withdrawn to her chest. "...I... I just wanted to give you something to come back to. Ingora and I, we don't care about any of this... we just want it to be over, and have you back. But you fought so hard, all these years, just to keep this old place afloat..."

She glanced away with guilt, tracing the lines of the small side table and reached out to the vase on it, brushing flower petals fondly as if they reflected the fruits of Link's efforts. "To just let it all go, everything you've sacrificed..."

"It's okay, Malinna." he offered with a simple smile, blue eyes alight with promise, and in that moment he looked like the content boy she'd known long ago. "The world is a lot bigger than this ranch. We'll find something else... something better."

As if in remembrance, Link let his hand settle upon the wall, fingers spread wide in affection as he paid his final respects to the worn house he loved. "I don't know if we'll ever find anything quite the same, but I do know that if you stay here, this place is going to throw you against its stones. It's better to leave it and cherish the memory, than to stay and be stuck in the past. There's bad spirits here."

Link let it linger a moment before glancing back at her, and seamlessly he slipped from the sliver of boyhood and into the determined man he'd become. "I can't take back our hardships, and I can't repair our lives here. They've been broken too many times." steely eyes flashed then with something new; something Malinna had never seen.

"But I can make sure the man who caused it all never hurts anyone else, like he has us, and I'm not going to stop until I do... So just move on, focus on going forward and I'll be home before you know it. I promise."

Casting a pensive gaze over her brother, the redhead could see the change—it was almost as if Link was more of himself than ever before, a valiant pride in his every move and his posture spoke of new confidence and inner calm. Her mind lingered on the memory of the night after the Tourney, how she'd dragged him to the Gala against his protests, still fresh as the sullen image swept through her. How tired and withdrawn he seemed then, world weary and cynical as he brooded silent, offering only the odd grunt as he picked at new clothes. A rueful smile tugged at Malinna's lips as she thought of it, spending money they didn't have on such high class attire as an investment for his career, and how wasted and foolish it seemed now. Her hands, still tender for the day's work, clasped to be held under her chin, tucked under as she peered up at him softly through auburn fringe.

"...Dad would be mighty proud of you, Fairy boy." it came with a hint of laughter, easing the fatigue that seemed etched into her pretty features and her head tilted, a fond twitch of ears given to the sound of his voice. "I'll try. I can't promise I'll be happy until you're safe again, but I'll try."

The boy stared at her with the beginnings of a tender smile, but just as quickly it faded, reassurance and care halted to twist into suspicious caution. With a frown he turned slightly to the door in question, listening with stilted suspense.

Malinna gave him an odd look, bemused for his sudden shift in ease, but when she caught the faint thud of boots meeting the wooden step outside she was quick to join her brother in apprehension. The woman flinched to cast her gaze about, as if searching the walls with a desperate wish they held sanctuary for him, and stepping forward thrust her hand out in alarm.

"Link, hide! Quickly!" she whispered urgently, though the boy had already begun to move, steely eyes alert as he slipped past her with haste. Tearing inward and down the hall, a fleeting moment of panic hit as his elbow knocked a vase, though by some sweet and merciful God the pair was saved the sound of a crash as it wobbled without tipping.

Malinna fumbled to hide her distress, smoothing her apron and grooming her hair in false security. She readied for the arrival, and heart racing, caught the glimpse of her brother disappearing into the kitchen to seek refuge. A loud double knock jarred their bones with an awful sound, and buying precious little time, the redhead called out quickly to stall.

"W-who is it?" she chimed as sweetly as was normal for her, leaning back from her place as if to feign some distance, perhaps make it sound as if she were in the sitting room. Though she cringed self consciously, the wavering crack in her voice seeming obvious in guilt, the rancher could only wait in hope that it was Ingora.

"Malinna! Open up, it's Mikael!" came a young timbre from the other side, familiar to her though strangely hurried as the man's voice came somewhat strained.

Within the dark kitchen, Link froze to the sound of the unknown voice, seizing up like a rabbit caught in a hunter's crosshairs—silently he willed that his sister might be able to sway them away, that she may greet them on the landing to remove any intrusion to their home. But when the creak of the door echoed through the hall, his gut twisted with the chance of discovery.

Soft leather was quiet against hardwood flooring as the boy shifted, sidling against the wall to ease open a pantry cupboard, thin and tall enough to half hide his lithe frame. Hair assaulted by hanging sprigs of herbs, he pressed his back into the shelving and held the small door, squashing himself inward. Link could do nothing more than hold his breath against the spiced smell and peppery taste of stale air, waiting as his sheath dug painfully into his back for the cramped space.

The boy listened with precision, tracking every sound to identify it and glean what was occurring, scowling to himself in the dark and biting his cheek for the inconvenience. The voices were somewhat muffled, and it took a great deal of restraint not to react for the gasp he heard from his sister. Her feet shuffled quickly to the thud of the stranger's boots, a quick murmur from her and a grunt from the other as they both moved closer to the kitchen.

His chest tightened when he caught Malinna's tone, quick and panicked as something knocked against the wall and a flurry of movement occurred. Fingertips dug painfully into the edge of the small pantry door, a dull scrape as the boy felt his paranoia rising, paint collecting under his nails in want of action; _trapped like a rat, _his mind hissed with anger.

"N-no, Mikael, don't...!" another grunt then from beyond the thin wall, heavy with effort as Link's ears caught the outline of this stranger's words— "Where then?" the man sounded frustrated, and the exertion in his voice sent an angry tremor to rattle sheath against jars and tin.

"Sitting room, on the couch, maybe." he heard her murmur. "It'll be more comfortable, anyway."

Horrible images rushed through his mind before he could stop them or rationalise what he'd heard. His loyalty to his sister was overriding any want of self preservation; _It can't be what it sounds like, _he told himself fruitlessly_. _A man at her door in the early hours of the night, demanding entrance and taking hands to her with lust? A coward with a black heart, hopped up on power and privilege as they kicked at the down-trod? And to top it all of, it seemed whatever horror was unfolding had even happened _before_.

When the vase the boy had knocked did finally go crashing to shatter across the floor, protective rage had well and truly taken over Link's logic to hide, unrelenting as he recognised the situation to be a struggle.

Bursting from the cupboard, Link's sharp gaze lined with vengeful fury as it adjusted quickly to the dark. A streak of silver moonlight from the window caught upon his blade as it was drawn with a hiss, bolting into the dim light of the hall. Gritting teeth, Link's steps rounded quickly to skid across the floor, sword raised high and ready to cut down who he found there. It was only Malinna's shriek that brought him back from his haze of fury as her hands shot across his path, seconds before the weapon found foreign flesh behind her with a merciless thrust.

"Link, no!" unable to think of how to stop him in time, a reflex sent her hand around in a harsh and hasty slap.

The crack of it rattled his jaw to blur vision with a wince, knocking the boy from his task as a high pitch stole his hearing. His shoulder hit the wall aside him, footing lost in the shock of it and crunching broken porcelain beneath.

Malinna stood between men shaken, a gasp given as hands rose to cover her mouth. She could hardly believe she'd done it as she searched her brother's jaw for damage, but at the sight of his sword, she justified it. She couldn't have bloodshed over a misunderstanding.

All fell still within the hall, movement halted in shock, and blinking with confusion, the boy refocussed upon the scene. At first, he saw only blurred colour; humanoid shapes quickly sharpening to lend detail. Behind the redhead, kneeling now with a heavy burden sat the apparent threat, bereft of a soldier's helmet and overcome with disbelief as green eyes stared up at the wanted man. It was only then, as a wild gaze took it all in, that Link found his mistake; sprawled limply and unconscious, half heaved upon the young man's lean frame with an arm draped about his shoulder, was a dirt smeared and red-cheeked Ingora.

There was no struggle to be found here besides the dead weight of an old drunk, confirmed for the stink of whiskey filling Link's nose with an agonisingly clear bite. Wild horses hardly ever showed up around these parts; the old man likely just wanted some peace in which to drown sorrows.

Unarmed, the stranger was haunted by absent armour. Civilian attire—blue shirted with dark slacks and boots—was a far cry from the silver the Wolf had expected to sink fangs into. An almost understated innocence clung to the man, and were it not for Mikael's unfortunate posting the boy would scarcely have guessed him a soldier at all.

It was a bitter taste in the back of his mouth as recognition dragged memories back; Link knew the soldier's face all to well, and even against the bleak haze of his time captured, he'd never forget his keeper. Between them, the boy knew, there was to be no mistake or lie—the expression on Mikael's face was proof enough that the identification was mutual.

Malinna may not even realise this man was a threat to their well-being. Desperate measures had to be taken, now, and a strange itch for revenge satisfied—however small—trailed his spine wantonly.

He peered past his sister as if she were a ghost now, glaring down the soldier despite his apparent kindness to them, and with a sluggish movement pushed himself off the wall. Malinna's pretty face had grown pale with worry, though it was not for Link's safety that her eyes silently pleaded.

The blade was levelled then at the soldier's throat, and staring harshly from under blonde bangs, Link's voice came quietly. "...You should have left him in the fields."

"Link, stop it. He's a friend—" Malinna frowned with some confusion as she moved to intercept him, but her brother's hand lashed out to hold her at bay. It seemed she truly didn't know of what company she kept, and for that the boy hissed at her like a territorial and protective tomcat.

"A friend of the Crown." He felt her flinch to the sound of his voice, harsh and damning, though the boy never tore his eyes away. "I don't care what lies he's fed you, Malinna, he's seen me now and you'll be the one to pay for it. If you think him a 'friend', then I fear how much information about us you've already allowed him to take back to Sheik."

"P-please... I won't breathe a w-word... I'll pretend I never saw you at all..." Mikael was quick in his surrender, letting Ingora slump to the floor forgotten, a fearful gaze tracing the sharp edge of Link's weapon. "I'm not a spy, hand to Nayru I'm not! I'm not even part of the guard anymore, I quit last—" The cold sting of its tip pressed beneath his chin painfully as he swallowed, and it was clear his lack of armour would lend him no mercy.

"Be quiet." the boy growled.

"It's true, Link! He's the friend I mentioned earlier, telling me about what's been going on!" the redhead pleaded with him, clutching at her brother's forearm as it held her back. "He's been watching out for us, and bringing me letters, and—"

"And you never thought it was a front to see if you knew of my whereabouts? To use you to get to me?" Link scowled back at her, torn between his want to be lenient and the desperate urges of necessity.

She was a kind hearted soul. She searched for the good in people and always had, even in the criminals her brother captured... Link was reduced to chasing down the very worst that could come of anyone, and made his living exploiting that knowledge. Cracking in the insanity of it all, he struggled not to yell, cocking his head toward the trembling Mikael.

"This bastard kept damn sure my shackles were tight and my belly was rumbling when last I saw him! Where was his mercy when I _needed_ it? A friend, Malinna? It's bloody Sakon all over again!"

The redhead couldn't help but cringe at the mention of her old—and short lived—romance with the con artist.

Mikael shook his head, staring up at the boy with a cruel taste of irony on his tongue, and babbled but the first few syllables of an answer before Link turned cold eyes back on him to continue. "Our whole lives have been built on lies like this. Planned and patiently set about for _years_. I should kill bastards like you and strap you to your own horses, spook them and see where you end up for a laugh."

If in that moment Mikael's growing affections for Malinna had faltered—uncertainty over whether she'd see his fate sealed—the redhead seemed a benevolent Goddess to him when slowly she reached out from behind the barrier of Link's right arm. Her fingers would brush her brother's wrist lightly, wrapping about it to stay his sword from doing any harm. Hurt shimmered in blue eyes as they lingered upon the blade, trailing the odd golden pattern upwards to sweep the birthmark on Link's hand—it was dull and faded, barely distinguishable against his tan skin.

"...No matter how bad things got..." she whispered, distant as her voice lilted between them all, "You never killed a man. No matter the price, nothing is worth that. You said so yourself, Link."

Handsome features were stoic still, clinical with a stern detachment, and apparently unmoved by her the boy held his ground. Scarcely sure he'd even heard her, his sister glanced to him, holding a hand to her chest as if soothing a tight pain. "Please, Link... I truly believe he isn't out to do us more hurt, even if it is for wishful thinking... Telma trusted him enough to deliver your letter. He's even helped around the ranch for nothing, and he does tell me any news from Castle Town..."

The corners of his mouth flickered ever so slightly, ghosting unknown words behind them as the boy tried to ignore the ache in his jaw. A small sliver of irritation stabbed his chest as she seemed to forgive Mikael of his crimes, beckoning mercy while he would repent.

_She probably thinks he has a heart of gold._ The blade lowered a fraction, and though he still held it poised, the soldier visibly shuddered. _From now on, I'm picking her men for her. Maybe her record will improve._

"If the price is you, Malinna, then I can't keep that creed. Whether he means well or not, he's a threat to your safety." despite himself, Link felt his grip loosening to the soft touch of her hand, and cursing himself for it, allowed her to pull his arm away.

Defeated, the boy sighed to turn away from them, bangs swaying lightly to the shake of his head. Tense shoulders rolled as the weapon was withdrawn, sliding with grace back into its hold, and swift steps carried him toward the arch of the sitting room to seek the warmth of her fire. He paused there, glaring across and into the flames as a stern grip squeezed the wooden frame.

"He'll live, but you leave tomorrow for it. Pack your things, we'll splash the old man with some cold water and be gone by sunrise." he growled back at her, pulling away to cross the rug. Falling back into the thinly cushioned couch with a lazy and agitated slump, Link wore an irritated frown to himself as he did so. "And _he_ is coming with us. Consider him a hostage."

He hated the thought of bringing Mikael along, wanting him to be as far from the redhead as possible, but it seemed Link had little choice. _I can't afford to let him go, either, _his mind ticked, damning the guard for his sudden appearance, _It's a stretch, but if they can rough it in the forest for a little while, Ashei can keep him in line..._

The thought of sending his family to look after Ashei's lonesome mountain appealed some, but it was quick to be dismissed—Link himself had left Snowpeak for a few reasons, but the association of Ashei with his escape was the primary factor. It would be as good as sending them from one frying pan to the next, given those borders could be swarming with patrols by this point and, knowing Malinna would travel by caravan with the horses, she was sure to catch attention from the Zora. It wouldn't take much for her to be recognised as his sister, and when the aquatic guards put that fact alongside her journey to the mountains, it would only be a matter of time before trouble found her.

Ever tactical, a corner of Link's mind told him there was advantage to be found there, for sending Malinna in that direction would be an easy trick to pull; he could have Sheik think him hiding with Ashei, having sent for his sister to join them. A good amount of resource and manpower could be wasted in the wild hunt through the peaks, buying back some time and a window of opportunity in which the Regent's surveillance would be lacking...

Tempting though it may have been in such dire times, Link threw such thoughts into the fire with a spiteful glare. _Ashei is going to throttle me when she finds my sleeping roll empty again... Bringing Malinna and the Old Man back to the forest isn't the best option, so close to the Ranch, but its all we have. At the very least, they'll be safer there than here._

Within the hallway, Malinna held a hand to her forehead as she stood there, sighing a mixture of relief and new stress as her head shook—she swore she felt a feverish heat clamouring at her temples. Listless arms rose in a helpless shrug to herself, and she bent to take a knee, tugging up her dress and thin apron. A foreign glance was spared in her silence to Mikael, who received only thin-lipped and rueful grimace in the place of her smile.

He offered the redhead a sheepish and humble look as he slowly regained some composure, green eyes dazed and grateful for the life still within them. Cautious, he peered over at the archway as if it contained a venomous snake in its shadow, and reluctant, leaned to take hold of Ingora's limp and hairy-knuckled hand to aid her in lifting him.

When Malinna had hold of filthy boots, he chanced a whisper between them. "...I'm sorry for the trouble, Malinna... thank you... uh..." he cleared his throat with a small and guilty frown. "I-I came to tell you... Telma, she's, um... she's still being held. Apparently, there's an investigation over a soldier that was killed in an interrogation, so it could... be a while..."

She paused with a distant air, gaze focussed upon the shallow rise of the old man's chest between them. "Is that true, Mikael? Were you really the guard for his cell?" how desperately she wanted to hear no, but found herself unable to look at him, knowing his face held only a regretful yes.

The ex-soldier's head hung a moment before he gave a small nod, hesitant as Mikael caught hold of Ingora's arm, ignoring the stink of alcohol on his moustache. Blonde brows furrowed in apology. "I swear, if I'd known back then..." he began weakly, searching for the words as the duo heaved the eldest rancher upward with some effort. Grunting as they both stood, he dodged the look of betrayal tainting her pretty face. "I would've helped as much as I could... but..."

He sighed as her glare became too harsh for his tastes, and sorrowfully muttered as they shifted to follow Link. "...Not sure how, exactly, without being killed or locked up..."

A steely eyed gaze still fresh with distaste tore a feeble flinch from Mikael's tired muscles as Link's attention drifted to meet them, following the ex-soldier closely. Mikael could feel him picking his movements apart like so many opponents in the arena—he remembered it with respect and fearful curiosity. He felt like a mouse being spied by a soaring hawk as he and Malinna moved to the opposite couch, draping the unconscious Ingora with due care across it. Finding some distraction in the removal of the old man's boots, earth red with mud as they were, he watched Malinna take to the laces—Mikael sort of liked the way her face twisted up in disapproval.

A cringe for the smell of sweat soaked socks crinkled her dainty nose, Ingora's limp foot falling with a thump as she dropped it. Almost oblivious to the awkward tension between her brother and his old keeper, the redhead removed herself from the old man's side as his boots were pinched high with some revulsion. Pinned between the cold stare of Link—who looked rather ominous with his features half bathed in firelight—and the drunken snore of the elder rancher, Mikael sent her a pleading rise of his brows.

To his internal horror, the goddess of mercy in her had vanished. "You are gonna sit down and explain to my brother how exactly you fit into this, Mikael. You owe him that much." a slender finger was levelled toward the ex-soldier, and as fierce blue eyes swept him from under that auburn fringe, suddenly Link did not seem so threatening. The hem of her skirt seemed to float as she spun, and she sent Link a stern glance as well, motherly, as if to suggest he play nicely. "I'll bring in some tea when I've got the mud off of these."

And so swiftly, Link and Mikael were left to their own devices in the softly lit and sparsely furnished room, with only the occasional twitch from Ingora to lend movement to the space. The Wolf seemed more like a cobra, sitting still yet ready to strike, Mikael caught in his vision like a petrified hare. A nervous laugh broke loose from him as a trembling hand sought the comfort of the couch arm, a strange and awkward lean the best attempt the ex-soldier could manage to ease out of his odd position.

"So... uh... You're looking well..." he forced out weakly, gesturing to Link's general direction as green eyes avoided steely blue. Try as he might to hide it, the tremble Mikael had developed at sword point hadn't quite left him yet.

An eerie calm let on nothing of the anger hiding in his voice when Link returned him, ignoring the grunting turn of the old man as Ingora shifted uncomfortably in his sleep. "Given the last time you saw me, if I were any worse for wear, I'd be dead." sharp and to the point, Link's fingers rapped upon sleeved bicep, guarded and bitter as he was. "I am out of time, and out of patience to pretend otherwise. If you really are of any help at all to us, you'd best start by giving me a few damn good reasons to believe it. Malinna is naïve, and our enemy is cunning."

Almost sneeringly, the boy cocked his head up in a belligerent manner, barely able to hold back the urge to stand and punch the other as he peered over. "The fact that I don't like you isn't helping."

"All good points, and well made..." Mikael conceded submissively, raising a nervous hand to his stomach, fingers tapping as he failed to hide his discomfort. Avoiding the sight of the stoic fugitive, green eyes lifted toward the ceiling in distraction, running the length of a wooden beam. "Oh, rake ceiling. Never noticed before. Lovely, that. Uh..."

"You have ten seconds, Mikael. Exactly ten." Link squinted with the spiteful knowledge of how accurate his timing could be, and begun his countdown mentally. "Get to the point, or lose teeth."

Mikael's mouth ghosted the words, but under Link's hard scrutiny, they were hard to choke out. "I guess... I'll start at the beginning?" he looked expectantly over at the boy, but when he received no answer, sighed to slump to the floor and sit. Leaning against the couch, he moved Ingora's hanging arm aside, so carefully it might as well have been a bomb. It was a hard task to find any modicum of comfort in this situation, so giving up on it, Mikael hung his head and stared at the rug instead.

"I know it doesn't look good, with me sniffing around your sister like this and... well..." A shy grimace came as he ruffled his own blonde hair. "I mean, I know how you feel. I got a sister too... Lola, she sings. I used to play a bit of guitar myself, but she was the star... Show business, what can I say?" how he wished he could stop himself from rambling when ill at ease, but when fear struck him, Mikael was always quick to gush the truth.

He paused as Ingora muttered something, turning to wrap a lanky arm around the ex-soldier's shoulders and pin him there. Not wanting to raise any ire, Mikael ignored it, even when he felt the bristling moustache awkwardly nuzzling the back of his neck. "See, that's how we came to know Telma so well. Lola and I used to play her bar, when I was younger... Not much money, but... She's going to have a kid soon, little Lo. The pay didn't cut it, so my cousin hooked me up in the guard about four months back. I was lousy at it, but he always covered for me... Anyway..."

It was almost unseen in the half light, but with the slightest twitch of pointed ears, Link's lithe frame began to relax. The lines of his face seemed less harsh, though still he held his defences, and pensive, his foot had begun to tap quietly to add a bounce to his knee. _If he's a liar, he's a damn good one... going out on sympathy, probably... _but he could tell it was the truth, the pang of Mikael's words finding a familiar worry within the boy. The ex-soldier wore the same look Link often did, when musing upon a little sister's well being.

He cast a brief glance toward the archway, listening for the sounds of said sister in the kitchen—already one could hear the kettle beginning to bubble against her sweet and idle humming. It relaxed him more than he'd like to admit.

Chewing the inside of his cheek as he tried to keep hold of his alert and aloof state, the boy regarded Mikael with the same look one would give an unwanted salesman at the doorstep, brow rising in question. "Alright then. How is it such a 'lousy guard' gets a post outside the cell of the most wanted man in Hyrule?" handsome features darkened suddenly with a venomous glare. "And don't drop knowing Telma to me. Every soldier _knows_ Telma. None of them seemed to know her all _that_ well when the arrest warrant came, so that'd be a mark against you being trustworthy."

Mikael flinched some at that. Guilt wormed through his stomach like a parasite, twisting it so fiercely it tore an audible growl away. Distantly, the weight on his chest was recognisable, and as the ex-soldier's hand rose to sweep beneath Ingora's arm, he swallowed a small shudder of trepidation—it was almost as if the Regent's boot was upon him still. He knew he may well be in for a beating at least, to admit and recount it all before this fugitive of the law; Link would not take kindly to Mikael's small part in Telma's capture. Were Sheik to find out about this little rendezvous, on the other hand, his death warrant would be signed as quickly as his last breath would be drawn.

But perhaps it was the only way to crawl out from under the Sheikah's heel, brave enough in conviction to withstand what fate rewarded or punished him with.

Tentative, Mikael took to the ape-like arm around him, ducking his blonde head beneath it and returning it to be tucked at Ingora's side with a sigh. "...Look, this is probably a bit late for asking... maybe even stupid of me to do... but..." drawing a slow breath, he found his backbone hidden deep within his sinewy frame. "Did you kill _anyone _the night the King died?"

The question burned in the air around him, and so tired of hearing such things now, the boy could only close his eyes and seek some solace in the darkness there. An old and tired anger dug its claws into Link's heart, tearing at him, screaming from the very pit of his soul in defiance to it, but he dared not reach out to it. He had spent his life in anger and misery, and watched it buried in the ashes of rage and hopelessness.

Tired hands unfurled from his chest, taken to the sides of his handsome face and held there in despair. So resolutely did the world call the boy a murderer, he was almost at the point of believing it—his inaction, his folly, had lead to the King's death in one way or another.

"Mikael..." his voice came hoarse, low kept and humble, though somehow older as Link hid his face from the light. "You saw me down there. You heard the chains rattling. All my kicking and struggling in the dark, everything, and you did nothing then."

Link's hand slid down only a fraction, allowing a small window between his bangs and his fingers through which his eyes could be seen, bereft of their steely sheen. "For your orders, or a fool to the same trick as me, I don't care what stayed your hand... but don't ignore it now. If you have any doubts, then what you saw down there should be enough to sway them. I couldn't give anyone any more than that, with the evidence stacked against me."

"I didn't murder the King, and my uncle didn't kill Talleday, either. Sheik did." he sighed as his gaze travelled to the fireplace, noting the need for more wood. "He's nothing like he seems."

It seemed such a simple truth when Link said it, a fragile thing that threatened to crumble if past preconceptions were to be held. Looking to his lap, the man shook his head numbly, barely able to process the war within his mind. He had tried to be loyal to Telma, and even grown attached to Malinna as he fulfilled the favour put to him the bar matron, recompense for a forced betrayal. But there was a selfish bitterness held in him where Link was concerned, if only for the fact he had no one else to blame.

Mikael seemed so suddenly distant, and the spiteful coward in him faded to reason—If Talleday had died by Sheik's hand, there was little doubt his own losses were the Sheikah's doing as well. He had no choice but to believe it, now.

"...I knew there was something wrong when I saw that weird gold in his eyes." he murmured to himself with broken and unsure bitterness, a memory glossing over him. "The night the King was killed, my cousin was as well. Throat slit, they said... just like Talleday before him. Honestly, the King was a shock, but Shiro... I hated you for that more than anything."

As Link straightened with some surprise for this new addition to his apparent list of crimes, Mikael was solemn and withdrawn, reflecting upon his loss mournfully. "He was awarded a posthumous honour, you know. Found just outside of the council chambers, so it was obvious he was killed for trying to protect the King. I... I can't even remember the last time I saw him alive..." subtle confusion swept him then, blonde brows furrowed as he chased the ghost of recollection.

"I must've drank too much, I shouldn't have on duty... But with the Gala, I guess we were all in high spirits, and my next shift was with him. If I hadn't, maybe Shiro would still be alive. I don't know." he shrugged helplessly in the dim light, casting a forlorn glance to the fire. "After all he did to get me in there, I didn't even take it seriously. I took advantage of him, really."

Bemused, the rancher's expression was quizzical as he traced Mikael's posture. _Shiro? Someone else was killed that night? _But as his mind ticked, thinking back to the chaos that day, Link felt a stab of deja vu—Mikael actually reminded him of a face he'd seen at the Gala, though he'd be damned if he could place it.

"I think I remember that, actually..." the rancher offered with a small frown, seemingly incredulous of his own recollection. "Sheik told me he'd found a soldier dead in the side passage, after I'd found the King. His act was flawless... Everything from the fake concern on his face, to the breathlessness, like he'd been on the move. As soon as he said Badon was there, he had me... I trusted him too much." leaning forward to rest elbows on his knees, the boy let his gaze trace the rug between them, regretful. "My own sword was the murder weapon... I was so stunned, I wasn't thinking. I didn't have _time _to think. I just ran as fast as I could and hoped to hell I could do something."

Rubbing the marking on the back of his hand, Link swore he felt heat seeping forth from it, though he dismissed it as a trick of the fire. "Looking back," he sighed, shaking his head, "he was there too soon. It was far too convenient... There was even a bit of blood on his gloves, but I just assumed it was mine, after the spar with him in the gardens. I guess I just didn't want to connect the dots, because I thought he was looking out for me."

Mikael's ears perked to the sound of the kettle whistling from the kitchen, glancing that way before running his fingers through short hair. Meekly, he nodded, and having seen the two sides of Sheik as well, understood immediately. "I know the feeling... When I delivered your letter to Malinna, I was here when she read it. If I hadn't seen it in him myself, I'd have never believed Sheik was like that. He seemed so... noble, almost, you know?" hesitant, he frowned, self loathing in his green eyes.

"I practically begged for the post at your cell. I wanted so badly to see you suffer for what you did-" Mikael paused then, glancing up to correct himself, "-what I _thought_ you did, and it was Sheik who recommended me for it when it looked like Stelios would get it..." muttering, he added with a hiss, "...probably thought it was funny. Bastard."

Sympathetic, Link ran tired fingers through his bangs with a cynical nod. "That sounds like his kind of humour..." he grimaced.

Mikael gave a defeated shrug, well aware of the trick. "He gave all the boys this speech about honour and duty... had us all treating it like a holy grail, guarding you. We competed to be picked so we could watch the traitor crack. Even help it along, if we could... I didn't ignore you. I was... enjoying it, at the time..." he cringed to himself at the thought.

To Mikael's surprise, Link didn't revert to his previous hostility, and instead offered a rueful smirk. "But only because you thought I'd killed Shiro, right? As bleak as it is to say, I'm doing just the same..." a cynical chuckle took him then, helped along by the strange look he received. "My uncle hung for Sheik's crime. First and foremost, I'll get him back for that."

Seriousness crept over the shadows on Mikael's youthful face as blonde brows furrowed. "I don't know what you plan to do, but I wouldn't go picking that fight easily. When you escaped, I was the one to tell the new Regent. You should've seen the way he looked at me... There's something dark in him that shouldn't be there, even in a Sheikah," trailing off he seemed unfinished, as if he couldn't quite find the words to describe it. "Not sure what, but I think Shiro might have seen it too. It's probably what cost him his life."

A shudder rocked his frame for a moment as the whine of the kettle faded, and like a child recalling a nightmare, Mikael shifted to tuck a knee close to his chest and hold it there. "I can't even describe it, its like... evil... Pure evil." green eyes closed, and within his mind the golden eyes haunted him just as clearly as ever.

"I thought he was going to kill me, that day. I panicked and just blurted it all out like an idiot, telling him about the passage through Telma's place. He handed me the arrest warrant, and that was it. I passed it onto a superior and walked out of the castle grounds... I just needed to get away from him, and have nothing more to do with it." he seemed visibly shaken just recalling the incident, reluctant to talk about it. "Went to the bar and warned Telma, she gave me the letter and told me what'd happened, and I've been keeping an eye here ever since."

Link stared a moment as the missing pieces found their place in his head, clicking together like a morbid puzzle with a disturbing picture revealed—if Telma was being personally held by Sheik himself, then he had to act quickly and get her out of there as soon as possible. Worse, he needed another passage into the castle, because by now Telma's way would be heavily guarded, if not blocked off entirely... But his 'hostage' seemed to have a wealth of information to offer, and provided he could answer questions as they came, perhaps he may help the boy more than hinder him, after all.

Most of his anger toward Mikael had dissipated now, in fact, and though an old part of him tried in vain to hold his wary nature, there was a bond emerging swiftly between them—they were brothers in grief, used and discarded like broken toys to the same monster who sat upon the throne. The boy could already feel himself eased by the thought, forgiveness blooming in him to erase Mikael's face from the shadowed memories of his confinement. A different man sat before him now, and Link knew more than anyone the dangers of clinging to past prejudice.

Under normal circumstance, Link was almost certain they would've made fast friends; despite his cowardice, the ex-soldier seemed at the very least to be more moral than he'd given credit for. With the right motivation, there might well be an ally to be made here, and the rancher would need all the help he could get if they were to see Telma out alive and well. In all likelihood, it would be Mikael and Ashei that had the task of her rescue, while he went after Sheik... the only question remaining was how to lure enough of the Royal forces down to the forests for that rescue to be successful.

_Skullkid can handle hundreds of men once they're in, and buy us time... But what would draw them out like that in so many numbers, all the way to the woods? _Pushing the problem to the back of his mind for later, Link sent an idle glance to Ingora, watching as the old man unconsciously scratched himself.

A slow nod gave an amicable sway to his bangs as a tired smile formed upon handsome features then. "So... you really did quit, huh?" he mused considerately, scratching the side of his nose. "It takes a brave man to change sides like that. You know you could be up for treason, just by being here... Gods help you if anyone found out you'd been talking to _me_."

Mikael laughed despite himself, dark humour at the fringe of his thoughts. Thumb jutted weakly toward his chest, he gave a sheepish and nervous grin. "I'm terrified. But what else can I do? I'm sort of caught between everything. Telma, you, that Sheikah... Even Princess Zelda, in the middle of it all..." he shrugged as he trailed off, suddenly pensive. "Her father's killer around her, all hours of the day, and she doesn't even know it. That's so wrong... So, I guess if I _can_ help, I should."

"Courage, then." came Malinna's voice from the archway, her slippers soft against the hardwood floors as she padded in, a tin mug in each hand to be held in offering. A sweet smile had returned to her, flashed slyly between the both of them as if she'd managed to hear every word, and auburn hair was now loosely gathered in a ponytail. "Mama used to say, 'if something is wrong, and you have the ability to do something, you have the responsibility to do something'. Courage ain't the absence of fear or doubt, but the will to push through it, and put the needs of others before your own." with an encouraging wink to Mikael, she added, "It's what Heroes are made of, don't you know."

Shifting, Link rose lazily from his seat to cross the worn old rug, and silently grateful for her mentioning it, was reminded of the reason he came. "It's funny you bring it up, Malinna, but there was something about that I'd been wanting to ask you." he offered vaguely, reaching for his mug a little quicker than politeness allowed as she rose a brow. "You remember that old story you used to tell me, how did it go again? The time traveller's sword...?"

Mikael seemed to perk up suddenly, as if finally stumbling upon whatever thought he was chasing, but it was Malinna who, with a roll of her eyes, spoke first. "The Hero of Time. Honestly, Link, you got a mind like a sieve for history..." brushing fringe behind her ear, she would pass the other Mug to Mikael, smiling at his good manners when she received a small 'thank you'.

Nodding, Link waved a hand dismissively. "Alright, sure, fine. That one. The Time Hero. Yes." from that hand rose a finger to beckon pause as he downed his tea in one long swig, ignoring Malinna's disapproving frown. Letting loose a sigh of relief, and mouth wiped on the back of his hand, he continued. "Run it by me, again?"

A strange look swept her pretty face, incredulous as blue eyes locked onto her brother with some disbelief. "Are you honestly going to stand there and tell me you came here for a _story_?" fiery brows knitted together as fists settled upon her hips. "And how many times have I told it to you, Link? What, did you just pretend to listen?"

Mikael sent the boy a a questioning glance over the rim of his mug as he sipped, and catching on quickly, cleared his throat to get Malinna's attention. "Hero of Time?" he asked innocently, feigning ignorance with raised brows. "That sounds interesting. What happened?"

It took a fairly uneducated hick to be truly unaware of the legend in this day and age, and though a thought was spared as to where the notorious Wolf actually fit on the scale of intelligence, the ex-soldier settled for the merciful explanation that Link had 'worldly experience' over 'book-smarts'.

Malinna looked ready enough to slap both men, her lips pulling downward in a disgusted frown. With a scoff, she rolled her eyes, muttering. "...And they say women make poor scholars..." but as the boys gave her those expectant looks, attentive with charming smiles, she found her love of storytelling hard to resist. With a small and benign sigh, she took her chin betwixt thumb and forefinger, tapping a nail upon her bottom lip as she began.

"Oh, alright... A long time ago, a wicked man from the West came to Hyrule, and unleashed an age of darkness with his vile powers, and they called him the King of Evil. A boy from the forest, clad in green, rose up against him to fight hordes of monsters all over the land, and save the fair Princess." she paused, pursing her lips as a thought struck her. "Our Princess Zelda is named after her, I think..." shrugging, she waved a hand to continue.

"But, _that _Zelda had a magical ocarina. Anyway... wielding a magic blade that destroyed wicked things at a touch, the Hero used it and travelled through time itself to undo the work of evil and bring the land peace. When all was done, he vanished—Poof! Never to be seen again. Some people don't think it really happened like that, and that it was the old Knights that defeated the Evil King..." wagging a finger, the redhead was quick to dismiss it, glancing between the men with a cheeky smirk, like a child with a secret.

"But before she died, when she was telling me the story, Mama said that our great grandmother actually _met_ the Hero, herself. _She_ told Mama the legend first, when she was a little girl, and it was our family that raised the Hero's horse. That's why Epona's breed is sometimes called 'Dauntless Reds'... you can follow their line all the way back to that one mare."

"Huh. Go figure... Wonder what he called his?" Mikael piped curiously, on a tangent—he'd often wondered of what it would be like to have his own steed, though in front of the ranchers, he would neglect to mention his own horse outside was simply hired for the day.

"I can't even imagine Epona with any other name. It just suits her, somehow..." Link seemed to stare off for a moment, distractedly scratching the back of his neck, before he came back to topic.

"But, that sword the Hero used... is it real?" he sent an odd look toward his sister, and though he'd likely asked her the same childish question so long ago when first he'd heard the story, caught in some youthful suspension of belief, it was clear he was now serious in his query. "Because I have it on good authority that a group of soldiers mounted an expedition into the forest, to retrieve a sword no less, just recently."

Mikael very nearly choked on his tea, spluttering to cough and smacking his chest to clear it. Bemused and bewildered, he stared at the boy, unable to believe what he'd heard. "The Master Sword?" green eyes were wide as his nervousness came rushing back to pale his cheeks, the barest hint of horror to him as realisation struck. A slow and reluctant nod answered Link's question as he and Malinna sent a blink Mikael's way—Malinna more for the fact that Mikael clearly did know the legend, after all.

"It's real enough to be acquired by the crown, if that's true... Badon Valenzuela, Sheik told me to send for him the day I left." Mikael gestured to Link, "I figured it was just to hire him on so he could hunt you down, but I hear he's been given your captaincy, instead. I passed him on my way here; him and maybe twenty men, carrying one huge chest up to the north. They weren't far off Castle Town when I rode passed." his brows rose as a look of disbelief crossed his features. "You don't think they _actually_ had the legendary Master Sword in there...?"

Laying cards on the table with a heavy sigh, Link could only offer a shrug as he peered into the empty tin mug, searching tea leaves for a helpful sign. "That'd be just about the size of it, with my luck."

Handsome features devolved into a thoughtful scowl as his foot tapped, and the boy found himself at a loss for planning—he was no closer to getting that blade, and though the new information seemed hopeful, it was a far cry from a solution. Any way he turned it, it seemed the only hope he had was to risk it all and face the castle head first to steal it back, somehow... But he didn't want to chance that without seeing Telma and his family were in a safe place, first. Glancing between them, Link would turn toward the fireplace, stepping closer to the warmth of the embers and setting his tin mug down with a light clank upon the mantle.

"The question I have, Mikael, is why would Sheik need it?"

Malinna had held her curious silence long enough and tilted her head to eye him, lips pursed as she plucked an odd answer from a fast mind. "Well... _He_ wouldn't." she offered, hesitant as she tried to make sense of her brother's situation, though fond of the old tales as she was, the redhead found something didn't quite fit. "He's a liar and a murderer, and we know that for a fact. It ain't like he'd be able to use it."

She saw Link's ears twitch, his head inclined to send her a curious glance, and smoothing her apron gave a definitive answer. "The legends all say it; 'the Blade of Catastrophe's Bane'... it might well kill a man like him, given all the 'catastrophe' he's caused already. Evil can't touch it, let alone use it."

As Ingora turned in his sleep behind him, Mikael's fingers drummed upon the sides of his mug, rhythmic and nervous as an eerie chill swept the hairs on the back of his neck. He almost felt as if something was amiss, a familiar and haunting feel to it as the blonde traced it mentally. The unlikely trio had fallen silent to ponder, a few moments passing with only the old man's fitful sleep and the crackle of the fireplace to disturb them, the dim light cast by tiny flames as they now licked at embers in neglect. It was an innocent thought when he spoke again, idle and observant.

"It's pretty smokey in here..." With a half-smile, he turned a glance to Malinna. "My eyes are almost watering, now. When was the last time you cleaned out your chimney?"

Indignation swept across the redhead's face as her fists balled at her sides, a defensive breath taken to chastise his rudeness, but the bite of her words never came. Now that it had been mentioned, Malinna couldn't help but take notice—indeed, there was a sting to her eyes and the taste of woodsmoke on the air, tainted by a strange metallic tang. Blinking, she glanced toward the fireplace as if to silently concede that it must have been the source, only to be distracted as Link turned quickly toward the window with an urgent and fluid few steps.

Despite the boy's usual steadiness, it was a sluggish and hollow movement that lifted his hands to draw the curtain back, reluctant and mechanical as steely eyes grew dull to scan the darkness expected beyond the window. Worn fingers curled into the soft material, a false comfort to the grave fear swiftly blossoming in his heart, and frozen there he stood caught in a moment of pathos. In the very core of his being, he prayed and wished that the glow behind was only that of the lantern outside, and that perhaps the chimney did need a sweep, but the boy knew better than that—he knew he had to expect the worst, simply thankful for Mikael's keen sense of smell to warn him.

Breath left him entirely when the veil finally parted wide before them all, only to reveal a horizon of hellfire blazing in the black abyss of night, closing in on their property lines with a distant yet hungry roar as it tore through the dry grass. Link barely registered the gasp of Malinna behind him as she stumbled back in horror, nor did he notice Mikael's wide-eyed shock as his mug fell through limp fingers to stain the rug with tea. His world had gone silent to the sight, if only for the moment, as his soul fractured within him for the very real danger now bearing down upon them.

His mouth felt dry when he said it, unable to do more than state the obvious, cynically making light of it—it was the only thing he could do, these days, to keep himself sane. "...I think that wraps up our tea party."

Sentiment bubbled up far too quickly in the anxious panic that hit the auburn haired rancher, and in a desperate attempt to salvage what she could, Malinna broke into a jittery search of the room, frantic. "No, no, no! Pictographs...! Link, grab the album, I have to get Mama's necklace and Dad's old love letters to her—" she moved as if she suddenly found herself in a foreign house, short and swift steps back and forth in uncertainty. "Mikael, there's a barrel of water out back, bucket in the kitchen, go...!"

She had struggled with the thought of leaving at dawn, let alone being chased out by flames as everything she knew went up in smoke, without even the comfort of glancing at it from afar in future; mournful reminiscence while passing by. But as the flighty Mikael quickly found his feet, heart pumping with the want to flee, he had the good sense to try and settle the woman.

"Malinna, there isn't time for any of that stuff!" though he didn't mean to hurt her, as his grip caught her arm the yank he gave was more rough than comforting, as if to shake her out of it. "We have to move!" His mouth gaped in a want to say more, but as the redhead was caught in a moment of wide eyed denial, Mikael found himself disarmed by the unbalanced look in her eye.

"Stuff? That's my family history, you idiot! How dare you!" voice cracking on the verge of a yell, her hand rose to slap again, defiant as she tossed her shoulder to free her arm of his hold. "This is _your fault, _Mikael! Why didn't you warn us there was a grass fire out there?! Did you not think it would travel?! Damn you useless city folk!" She was breaking inside, anguish covered by rage, and though she didn't truly blame him, Mikael flinched for his apparent negligence.

But Link would have no more of it, a determined smack given to the window frame as the boy threw himself back and into action. One fluid movement saw him clear over the couch, a loud thud of boots to land hard against the rug, and his hands would find and grip shoulders to break the pair from their growing quarrel. Steely eyes were commanding and sharp when he addressed them, natural authority in his voice to direct clearly.

"Well, it's that or the family future, Malinna. You two get Ingora and take him out the back way. Mikael, set her and the old man up with your horse and I'll circle around and get you." with no more than a look between them, the boy was already on the move; bounding into the hallway with only one thing in mind and leaving no room for argument.

The others hardly had time to nod before hearing Link's soft leather sole meet the old latch of his front door, wood shunted with a painful creak to swing open and bang against the outside wall. Though it was inappropriate as nostalgia hit him, the boy found odd satisfaction in being able to kick his way out one last time, though he didn't have the time to enjoy it. Feet barely hit the decking as the new swell of heat brushed his skin—the wind had turned against them since he'd arrived, but while the boy leapt down to skip the few steps on the landing, his mind ticked with scrutiny.

The sun had not been strong enough to warrant any spot fires earlier, and despite Malinna's verbal attack on Mikael, he himself had seen no smoke against the horizon earlier—in all reality, Link hadn't arrived that long before their blonde hostage had. Now, blackened clouds swallowed the starry night overhead, sooty with white flecks of ash raining down as the wind carried them. With a blaze this close, so suddenly powerful and upon them as the wind had shifted, Link could only suspect that they were the targets of arson, smoked out of hiding to be hunted.

Who exactly was behind the blaze was an imposing question, but with an entire country against them, it could've been anyone—though he had a nasty feeling he'd soon find out.

Over the cry of the fire as it came crashing like a wave upon their fences,

the wild whinny of a horse could be heard with haunting clarity, beckoning aid and urging him faster. Gravel crunched underfoot to turn into the thump of red earth as he rounded the house, past the great oak that seemed now to wither fearfully in the smoke-stained air. As a sharp gaze pierced the glow and haze to take stock of his surrounds, the ominous sight of the inferno seemed to coil around the north side of their entire property, swiftly building strength as silhouettes moved silently in the dark, cutting swaths of dotted orange where they went.

_Torches, _he noted, confirming it to be man made as he ran toward the stables, barely able to make them out through the smoke. _No, I heard her closer than that... _he scanned the scene franticly, eyes stinging as he fought the blur, and upon catching sight of strange shadows, ran toward them with all haste. Like running through mist, the boy burst through the other side of the haze with a cough, swallowing the foul taste that stained his lungs.

He spotted her all too easily in the amber glow, wrestling violently against the gleam of armour that held her reigns, kicking up the dust around them as the sorrel mare fought wildly. The horse struggled as best she could against her captor, steel clad and visor down as he stood firm, but the soldier was clearly winning his battle to claim the steed from ash showered stables. The man's helmet tilted Link's way, a moment's pause as a bracer gloved arm rose in signal, gesturing negligently toward the boy's position before delivering a sound backhand to the horse's ear in spite. Rearing up, Epona let loose a cry of pain, hooves kicking out in retaliation, though to Link's shock the brute simply yanked the animal's reigns downward to find all fours once again.

Such a feat of strength was hard come by, but a more likely explanation set his teeth itching—Epona must have been injured, if she was to be handled like that.

Arching over the charred posts near the mighty tree it came then like a falling star, a bottled rag lit up with a burning tail, licking at the air with hunger to crash and shatter by the boy's feet. A thunderous fury unleashed itself as a new blaze flared against the ground with a sickly scent, liquid spilling to seep across the dirt as fuel. Stumbling back to dodge, Link very nearly lost his footing to it, cringing as he brought up arms about his face in defence. Against his flesh came an assault of prickling burns as the liquid splashed against him, the cotton of his shirt littered with spots of dark oil to be singed. Wincing, venomous heat rushed across his leg, costing precious little time as he shook it on reflex, hopping a moment to pat out infant flames as they gnawed upon brown fabric.

"Epona! I'm coming girl! Hold on!" with a vengeful snarl, the boy pushed forward to draw his weapon soundly, ears twitching to the whistle of more flaming cocktails behind him. He kept track of them as best he could, darting and weaving to the sounds as they shattered around him, though his gaze remained locked upon the soldier ahead. His teeth were bared to all, feral and unforgiving, enduring grunts given to the heat and nipping of glass shards where they struck—he could hear the anonymous jeers of the shadows as they missed their target, distant laughter the the occasional whistle for the entertainment.

Hot oil seared his cheek and arm in a spatter when the swing of his blade caught one bottle with a smash before him, raised high again to meet the ringleader as he covered the last few feet. "Let her go, you bastard!"

It was only this close that Link could be sure of it, his sword slashing through smoke-thickened air for the lonely mail about the man's upper arm, but in that moment he realised the golden glint of armour was not merely the firelight playing on silvered reflection.

Turning to meet him swiftly, a well built arm came around to be held high, and with a resounding clash of metal, the edge of Link's sword found itself halted there—against the unforgiving strength of the blow, bracer buckling under the strain of it, the strike had been blocked. The blade quivered for the boy's weight upon it still, shaking with a rattle against the forearm, and for all the boy's effort not an inch was gained; held at bay by no more than an arm.

The boy was very nearly stunned by the ache sent through him as he caught the recoil, steely eyes wide when he realised his strike had failed; _no, that's... not possible, this sword is sharp enough to be half way through his arm, armour be damned, if not have it off completely! Ashei wouldn't lie about her blades! _His mind reeled when he saw it was not the arm-guard that had stopped it, blade edge cutting past it to meet flesh. _Hell, I know my swords well enough to figure that! That... that isn't __**natural**__...! _

In the seconds it took to embed the boy's weapon uselessly into the ruined bracer, the other arm had released Epona's reigns to travel, catching the rancher's forearm and earning the foe a crushing grip upon his wrist. A sidestep would move the assailant to the left, circling quickly to shift the boy with him. Despite digging heels into the dirt against him, Link was pulled right into a counterweighted throw and sent careening into Epona's barrel for good measure. The mare was shunted a few feet with him as she let loose a wincing neigh, stumbling before she found her feet and left sore sided for the trouble.

The force of impact had been greater than Link expected, wracking the boy's shoulder and upper back bluntly, very nearly winding him—the strength he'd seen before looked to be no illusion, and it reminded him eerily of his bout with Sheik. An elbow propped reflexively to hold himself up against his abused companion, and Link's lithe frame was overcome by coughing, still suffering for the smoke.

The figure turned to face him fully with a lazy and arrogant movement, armour shifting noisily. Casually, he inspected the damage to his suit, picking at the bent bracer and running a finger along the seam of a cut. "That's not bad... I take it the horse is yours?" From behind the visor came a self-assured chuckle as the sound of flames crackled all around them. "No matter... Three for three, and the Hunter is back on top."

With Epona steady behind him, Link's boots spread into stance even as he panted, straightening as the other talked. He knew that voice all to well, and nothing good could come of it. Cold eyes scanned the golden brute, fast and acute to predict the next move, muscles tensed and ready. But unlike before, when the twitch of leather clad fingers would clearly show the tell, the rancher found himself at an unexpected limit—his gaze followed the flash of it it, but a sluggish body left him wanting for speed. He knew it would still find his flesh, his hand pushing to intercept it and send the blow sideward, though it wouldn't be the stomach blow intended for him.

In a rare and cruel twist, he was outclassed in both speed and strength, and unable to defend effectively.

The sharp intrusion of a wrist-blade was thrust forward and ruthlessly driven in between ribs with a squelch, muscle pierced harshly as it dug deep. Fingers fell limp to the shock of it, dropping his own weapon as Link's frame bent beneath the blow, his hand clutching his foe's wrist too late in an automaton counter. Mouth agape with a ragged gasp, steely eyes rose upward to damn the face he knew was hidden behind hateful metal, reflecting his gaze as it drew close.

"How's that Ashei doing?" the familiar smirk baited, thin sliver of metal retracting from Link's flesh with a hiss.

Epona was dutiful as the boy swayed to lean against her frame, keeping him steady as anger stained her brown eyes, though the rancher cocked his head up with a sneer in her stead. "Get fucked, Valenzuela." it was less forceful than intended, lost to breathlessness as Link held a hand tightly to the growing patch of red about his side.

Stepping back, gloved hands rose to remove that awful helmet—undeserved and stolen—and a slow, steady sweep would reveal an ever punctual Badon, crimson hair slowly regaining some of its former glory. The cocky curve of his smirk only grew. "Oh, I intend to. That sister of yours is single, isn't she? Maybe I'll marry her, when I'm done with you... give her a baby and that." tilting forward, the new captain would spit on the boy's boots. "A real man in her life would do her good."

Wasting no time as opportunity struck, the rancher flung himself forward with haste, a powerful crack resounding to split skin as his forehead connected with Badon's skull. With a grunt of surprise, the brute would stumble back to drop the helmet with a clang, taking a hand to his bloodied brow, and with a wince Link dropped to retrieve his sword quickly. His body very nearly failed him in the attempt, his wound stilting movement in agonising protest and his head dizzy from the assault. Pushing through the pain in desperation, the rancher groped near-blindly to take hold of the weapon, eyes stinging from the smoke and ears ringing from the blow.

To his chagrin, just as Link's fingertips brushed the hilt, a leathered hand twisted with a yank into blonde, tearing him away from his prize. Pulled back, the knee of a solid greave was forced into his side, the boy's body tugged to meet it viciously with the fresh wound targeted. Epona recoiled with distress when the cry tore from her master's throat, a spray of blood hacked with a wheezing cough as handsome features twisted in agony. Blood seeped to stain the white cotton of his shirt more rapidly than before, and in the haze of it, he cursed Valenzuela's abnormally quick recovery.

"That was my _face_, you worthless piece of shit!"

A strained glance upward made it all too clear that the haughty captain indeed had a new trick up his sleeve though magical order, as Badon lifted a tapered brow down towards him—nothing more than a smear of red now marked the spot where it had split, cut healed and no damage apparent.

Valenzuela would scoff, tucking his anger away as he remembered past mistakes, and his scowl quickly devolved back into confidence. "Well, I hope you enjoyed your free shot, because you've drawn all the blood from me you're going to." a flick of the heel sent Link's sword skidding across the dirt, far from reach, and another sound yank was given to his scalp for a flinch.

"You may have had it over me at the tourney, but Badon is back. Stronger, faster, more durable..." green eyes gleamed with the shine from the fires as they rose up all around, closing in with every passing minute, though the Hunter seemed unphased by the impending danger.

A malicious grin cracked across his statued features, and as if preening in victory, a fond flick was given to the lone earring he wore—to Link's eye, a curious gem, and well noted. "And you, sluggish with fatigue and twice as skinny as before..." he hissed then, "You have five men to get through, as well as me, Wolfy boy. Surrender would be wise."

The sorrel mare stamped anxious beside them, tossing her mane about as the fires began to spook her for their proximity—ever faithful, it almost seemed as if she were trying to head Valenzuela off by intimidation, or to distract him, though to no avail. A silent apology shimmered in her eyes for it, hesitant as she was to try anything more for fear of her master's safety; the scent of his blood was enough to stay her, lest she caused any more injury.

Link glared up at him from behind his bangs, and swallowing the metallic tang, he tried to keep his breathing shallow and untroubled by the burning ache in his side. "How did you even find me here?" he bit out with a low growl, eyes dulled and lip stained red. "You were supposed to be headed for the castle..."

Negligent, Valenzuela gave another silent signal, almost at the point of ignoring the boy as a assured green gaze swept the ranch, taking note of the destruction as the flames slowly took hold of the barn. "So you have been following our movements..." the Hunter mused with a hint of expectation, inclining his head to watch it burn. "I can't say I'm surprised. He did say you'd be after that sword, but I hadn't expected to stumble across you just yet." an aloof and cocky grin was sent downward. "Don't you worry. The rest of my men will have it to the castle by now, so you shouldn't feel guilty about causing any delays."

Before Link's struggle could return, hiss of his blade resurfacing, Badon would hold it at the rancher's clavicle, pressed steady with a clear threat against his jugular. With some security regained, he lowered just enough for his breath to breeze a pointed ear as he spoke, savouring his capture while the smoke thickened overhead.

"The beauty of it is, we weren't here for _you_, Wolf. Even I didn't pick you as dopey enough to come here, of all places." leather-clad fingers tightened their grip on blonde hair, seeking to cause discomfort. "Your pelt is just a bonus... you can thank your old buddy Mikael for that... some of the boys didn't take to kindly to him chasing down a post at your cell, only to lose you shortly after. Got us thinking it might be better to see _him_ disappear, instead." the thin blade bounced slightly to the boy's pulse, outlining each word perfectly.

"Since you like framing people, we all figured it might be funny to pin him for arson, since he was headed down this way. As luck would have it, this busted up old ranch really was his destination." he chuckled, "We could hardly believe it. It's almost like somebody up there wants this place to burn. After all... you _did_ kill his cousin, and we all know how he felt about that. Too bad if Mikael couldn't outrun his own fire... Such a shame."

A feminine scream echoed out into the night, and it was then Link felt his heart stop. "...Did you really think your family could kill two of their finest, and _not_ have the ranks avenge their own?"

With a wild whinny, Epona tore away from them to follow it, her brown eyes frantic with worry as she disappeared through the smoke. Had Valenzuela only paid attention to his blade, he would've noticed Link's pulse double—as green eyes followed the horse, they wouldn't see the violent gold flash erupting from the boy's hand. A vivid new strength coursed through his veins as the sound of that scream rang clearly in his ears, resounding until it held a sepulchral tone, like some distant bell to call him. Like still water to reflect all else, Links' mind was suddenly calm, and with a flickering of wild blue sparking to life in dull irises, the Wolf within him stirred again.

_Left handed, as I am—_indeed, the wrist-blade at his throat was on the left, and the right hand currently twisted into blonde hair. A brief glance to the dirt shot quickly up to Badon's statuesque features, and as pointed ears twitched the the sound of beating hooves, Link needn't follow his gaze to know where it lay. Fingertips curled unseen by the Hunter's boot, silently gathering ash ridden dirt as the rancher smiled wryly.

"An eye for an eye, Badon, will leave the whole world blind." he mused quietly, awaiting a response.

The very instant he felt the blade drift slightly away from his skin, Badon's concentration taken by the odd comment as the brute cocked his head with a snide remark ready, the boy's arm would release like a tightly coiled spring. Red dust shot up from between their faces to surprise the haughty Hunter, catching grit in his eyes with a powerful sting and with his inevitable flinch, Badon would make his mistake. Automatic, his preferred hand would rise in response to damaged vision, momentarily releasing Link's throat from any threat as the blade went with it.

Dirt stained fingers clenched tightly into a fist as knuckled went hurtling upward for a solid blow to Badon's chin, the impact jarring his jaw with the satisfying sound of a forceful dental collision. The Hunter's head was sent snapping back, a strangled noise catching in his throat, and stunned by the blow, Link felt the grip loosen upon his hair. The boy would lurch forward suddenly for his escape, some pain gained for what little hold still remained tugging at his scalp, but even the flare of Courage would not block the wince from his side.

He had known Valenzuela would recover quickly from the scuffle, and slowed down by his wounds, Link grit his teeth to force himself into a crawl. Within seconds of his hands planting to claw at the ground, Badon's blind grab swept the white of his shirt, finger threatening to hook the back of his collar and reef him backward. Reflexive, the soft leather sole of Link's boot would lash out behind in a kick, a shock like that of a second stabbing rewarding him when it connected soundly with the gold breastplate, sending the kneeling Valenzuela toppling to hit the dirt with a grunt; balance lost.

Desperate to find his feet, the rancher would squirm through stilted movements, straining himself onto a knee and forcing his body upward from there. He staggered his first few steps as the haze of new smoke billowed to consume them, and coughing, clutched blood soaked cotton with torment twisting handsome features. He stumbled onward quickly, falling into the pattern of a broken run as he heard the shuffling of armour behind, and without looking back steely eyes would search the black fog for any sign of life.

"Malinna! Where are you?" he called hoarse, spluttering some between his words—he could hardly see anything now, obscured by the haze and heat.

The air was thick weighted, sooty as it entered the lungs, and all sides of him seemed to be haunted by the threatening amber glow. "**Malinna!**" he screamed out once more as he came across the cinders of a wall, blackened wood glowing with vengeful streaks of red—a beam collapsed within the structure, a flurry of embers bursting free like fireflies into the night. His sense of direction had completely disappeared, leaving their escape far too late for safe passage, and there was no doubt the blaze had claimed the house by now. His boot brushed the red hot skeleton of a tin, so far gone Link couldn't tell if it was indeed a paint pot from by the barn. Minutes passed as he searched, but there was no sign of his sister to be found.

Head dizzy, the boy swept a hand through his fringe to wipe the sweat from a furrowed brow, running fingers through blonde as his strength began to fade, steps swaggered as he pushed onward with faded consciousness. He was no fool—his blood loss, coupled with smoke inhalation, drastically reduced his chances of survival. If he couldn't find the others—or at the very least a fence line—very soon, even the divine light pulsing faintly from his hand wouldn't save him.

Sluggish, the rancher would finally misstep, the tip of his boot catching a dip in the ground beneath him, and unable to save himself Link was sent crashing to his knees as legs buckled. Unable to fight it back, a dangerous yawn stole him, and a slow sway saw fingers dragging across the earth in delirium. Distantly aware of any noise now, pointed ears twitched to the strange sensation, muffling the world as if filled with water.

Tired eyes drifted downward as a final, lonely flash flickered to illuminated the bleak haze, the glow fading from his hand to leave him in utter darkness; even the hellish glow distant and weak within a cage of starless black. There was only one small thought on his mind as a dull gaze traced the marking, ever familiar yet strange to him.

_...Is this really how I die...?_

What only seemed a blink to him came with the brief sensation of falling, a pressure new and soft against his cheek, lost in the comforting burst of colour behind closed eyes. All he knew now was the warmth of the soil against his skin, and the mute beat of a heart in his chest, caught in the kaleidoscope of mortality as his mind began to drift away from the world.

There was no pain. He felt untroubled by the want of wind in his lungs. Swirling hues of coalesced peacefully before him to mesmerise with invitation; so softly they curved, wisps of silk, all at once a face or the barest hint of a form and then chaos once more.

_This isn't so bad, _his voice echoed out within the last vestiges of himself in this strange plane of mortal twilight, _it's... nice..._ The spectrum seemed to shift impossibly around him, caressing the corners of his lost mind like the arms of a loved one. Within the miasma, he grew aware of communication, like a vibration at first—it echoed out from nowhere, everywhere, and though there was no sound to it, words formed within him to match it.

_But you must carry on, my wayward son; _were it a human essence, he would swear it was feminine, full of comfort and life._ Yours is a unique path, though you cannot follow it as your kindred might._

Drawn to it, Link would search for the origin, and a distant memory came unimpeded by physical thought. _Mother... That's my mother's voice..._ he projected outward into the strange plane, open as he addressed it. _But you aren't her... I can feel it._

It was all around him as the colours converged, pulsing with activity. _That is the voice you have chosen to give me, young one. _A sudden burst of orange sent him strangely recoiling, wary of it still as fresh memories clouded him. _Your world will not end in flames, child, but water. Your life is the key to a grand future... But you must carry a message, and tell it only with your last breath. It holds the very seed of salvation in its words._

A foreign rhythm snaked through him as the voice spoke, a strange deju vu echoing across the expanse like an oddly timed drum beat. He felt himself growing heavy somehow, the eternal spirals of colour fading from his perception as he asked; _I don't understand? What am I supposed to do? How will I know to follow this 'path', if I have to do it differently?_ _What are you?_

The kaleidoscope was nothing more than a ghost amongst formless black, the voice residing there growing evermore distant to be replaced by the beat—He knew the sound. Hooves against dirt, so close and yet, miles away. There was another voice there, a male one, but it called only his name; the sound was thick against the ethereal messenger, harsh in comparison.

_When the Baton is thrown to the waves, a King will rise again._

"Link! Oh, sweet Din, please don't be dead..." the voice of Mikael was clear above him then, and the almost overwhelming feeling of physical touch returned to his shoulder, gripped with a light shake.

Cracking steely eyes open with an unfocussed stare, Link could only wander the strange blur beside him from under ash-littered blonde bangs. His body felt like lead, and reluctant to leave the blissful place he had known, let slip a light groan for the dull ache swiftly returning to his side. Catching the rust-coloured blob behind Mikael, the boy struggling to bring his vision into focus, a confused and raspy murmur was the best he could manage.

"...Epona? Is that... Epona?"

Sighing with utter relief, the ex-soldier would nod, green eyes tracing Link's features with awe—it was nothing short of a miracle the boy was still alive. A gentle pat was given to his back. "Yeah, it is... But we have to get you out of this smoke. You're lucky I saw that signal, or I might never have found you in time."

Sluggish, Link felt his arm placed over Mikael's shoulders, struggling to kneel as the other supported most of his weight. Unsteady, the two rose slowly, starting a tandem hobble toward the sorrel as she stepped to meet them. With great effort and due care, Link would mount first; hoisted up and thankful for the stirrup, dragging a leg over the saddle with a wince as he held the pommel.

Feeling the seat shift as Mikael stepped up and shifted behind, Link let grateful fingers brush the mare's mane, earning a contented snort for his affections. Inclining his head slowly, the boy's mind caught up with the rest of him, the gravity of previous events sinking back into physical form.

"So, Malinna and Ingora took your horse, I'm guessing?" A tired smile hinted across his lips, but when he received a foreboding silence from the other, Link's head turned fully to search Mikael's youthful features himself.

How he wished he'd noticed it before. The boyish light in green eyes had jaded into that of a man, the left one darkened by a nasty shade of purple that spread to a cut over the bridge of his nose. Pale faced and drawn, the ex-soldier seemed to be missing the innocence he'd come with, his mouth bearing a split lip and hidden worry. Link knew they had both lost something precious then, even before the other spoke; he knew the signs too intimately to ignore them, so used to wearing them himself.

"They just appeared out of nowhere. My horse got spooked by one of their fire-bottles smashing against the wall, and took off on us... Then there were two of his men... Then four. I never even saw the fifth. I just heard her scream, and then she was gone." it came so quietly, mournful in the dead silence of the destroyed ranch, smoke clearing just enough to show jagged remains of the farmhouse as they rose up from charred surrounds. "...I'm sorry, Link. Ingora's alright, I got him out on Epona here before coming back for you, but..."

As Mikael trailed off behind, steely eyes closed to the world, chasing the colours he now knew were hidden there. "Don't blame yourself, Mikael. This was Badon's doing... and all he's given us is another reason to see Sheik fall. We'll get her back soon enough; her and Telma." the boy offered finally, swallowing against a parched throat. Bereft of any real feeling for the moment, his voice seemed coarse and hollow, unsuited to the strange optimism that escaped him.

"How can you be like that... after everything that's happened?" Mikael's green eyes searched him listlessly, walking the edge of despair's knife as he questioned the rancher's sanity, awestruck and unable to fathom the depths of Link's resolve. "You're badly injured, Malinna's gone, the ranch is gone... Badon has that sword, Sheik is still King..." short wisps of blonde whipped with a shake of his head, disbelief plastered over features. "Most people would've given up by now... but, you just... keep going."

Cryptic, the boy gave an absent shrug, as the ghost of a smile sat conspicuous upon his lips.

"...I have a feeling we're on the right path."

**A/N:**

**Ugh... I am so exhausted now, that was huuuuuuuge.**

**But, you gotta admit, I did owe you lots of story for my down time... Plus it is kinda cool when a chapter actually feels... 'chaptery'. **

**I've written this... like... uh, probably over the past two months in small bits and pieces? I've been a little busy trying to organise a webcomic and IRCd and get the site up and whatnot, plus I have two new kittens, and that was kind of unexpected and I am CONSTANTLY chasing after them and looking out for them.**

**My current sleep cycle is non existent. It just isn't there anymore, guys. Poof. Gone.**

**Also, POSTMAN reference in this chapter, ala Majora's Mask, and extra points if anybody can spot it. **

**(For link's trip out scene and the ending here, I am the most tired I could be while still awake. Sorry if it crapped out there, but my eyes aren't even working properly anymore.)**

**And the bit with Gan/Zel at the beginning was going to be it's own chapter originally, but my brain said, whut that's way too short, so I shrugged and went with it. Yay for double chapterish long updates!**

**Onwards... to... Glory... ZzZz... (thud)**


	28. Suspicious Omens

**A/N: It's been ages, I know. I've been writing this in bits and pieces over like the last 5 months-ish I think. It's just... like... I don't even... I'm just glad it got to a finishable point really, enough for me to post. It was gonna be longer, but it's been way too long between updates and Sorelliena poked me about it and here it is. 95% of it is good. The end is lazy. Sorry.**

The sound of many feet echoed down the castle halls, an urgency behind them, and even the crimson runners beneath couldn't stifle such haste. Pensive voices went with them, cautious and awestruck whispers as a sublime twist of disbelief hung expectantly in the castle-warmed air. Caught awake and misplaced by what seemed a small miracle in the dead of night, the fateful handful of men—in service to a stolen crown—clambered to keep up with their sovereign as the Sheikah strode hastily ahead, followed by his paling ward.

_It's here, by Gods, it's here_; Zelda's mind was racing as they went, golden tresses bouncing as bare feet padded swift under the swishing of skirts. She could hardly feel them, numbed by the settling cold as it lingered from the lakeside still. So surreal was this moment, the carpet was lost to her senses to leave her feeling as if she were floating; caught on a divine string to be pulled speedily toward destiny. It was so sudden, so strong, the very notion that they were about to lay eyes upon history overwhelmed her—of everything that had happened, that could be prepared for, this was the first true sign to lend stark reality to it.

Scarcely able to hear anything amongst the din of footfalls and the frantic drumming of her heart, the world seemed to move around her autonomously as if she was no longer truly part of it. Many voices seemed distant to her ears, their faces blurred in haste around her, and Zelda found herself locked in a bubble of silent panic. Even when some addressed or mentioned her, as they all raced forward down this lonely castle hall, she did not stir to them.

Aloof was she, in her fixation to simply see and confirm the truth for herself, unnerved by the fact that it could be as they said. The stone seemed bleaker than ever before to her eye, as if darkness had seeped in while she was gone. The armour suits seemed so very hollow and the tapestries faded, the flicker of torches only half as bright, as a brilliant—though her heart beckoned terrible—secret suddenly graced these walls.

The Master Sword had arrived, and already, the Princess found an implacable dread within her becoming of it.

Crystalline eyes wavered over her fiancé's back, tracing muscle through the dark skin tight garb as he walked. Zelda found herself small and removed from him in such fuss as his voice seemed to fill the hall, though he gave only low hisses to the councilmen around them. It seemed her small bubble of shock, perhaps even denial, burst when it came to the familiar timbre of her husband to be. Pointed ears twitched around every word he spoke, and the Princess couldn't help feeling as though she—for whatever reason—was not truly supposed to be here.

"I trust all the necessary precautions have been taken in construction, Themis?" The disguised Gerudo's head whipped to one side as he growled it out, biting the words through a harsh snap of his teeth and settling the man with a stern glare. "...Because if I find the work lack lustre, for such an important artefact to the Crown as this, the neglect shown _will_ be taken as contempt."

Behind him, his tone made Zelda twitch with apprehension—the Princess had no knowledge of what the 'precautions' were or even that a 'construction' had taken place, and her heart began to sink lower into anxiety for that. Yet another thing he'd kept from her, organising it without her consent or participation... but what state was she in of late to help, anyway? He'd made it clear that she'd done nothing but drive those around her to confusion and disappointment.

Her unrest was palpable, though to Ganondorf's great relief she had held her tongue thus far and continued to do so. His glances back to her were brief but powerful, and silently he willed her to be distracted by internal musings still. He had given her more than enough to think about today, potentially lessening her attentiveness to other matters, but he knew better than to rely on that assumption.

She was tense and somewhat rattled, that much he could tell—he could only hope it was a product of their little chat taking its toll, rather than anything to worry for where the Master Sword was concerned. It was the one thing he didn't need her sticking her nose too far into, caught off guard by the news as they both had been.

Thankfully, Zelda's thoughts for the moment were merciful enough for him, berating herself instead as the cloud of their earlier conversations hung over her. As he caught her gaze once more over his shoulder, the girl's lips parted to speak up, but something in the musings around her reminded Zelda it was probably best not to; words quelled within her immediately. A nauseated twist in her stomach gripped her when again, from the corner of his sharp eye, she saw that eerie flash of gold still shimmering violently in his irises.

Biting her lip, she tried in earnest to swallow her want to question. Perhaps to belay her lack of knowledge about these happenings was best for the impression gleaned by the courtiers around them.

_We're just doing what needs to be done, and if I had asked, he would've told me. He always does, of course… We've just been so busy lately, that's all... And there is something that I have neglected to tell him too, after all. _Her mind quietly reiterated these things like an internal mantra, unknowingly repeating to her the phrases introduced within her conditioning, _It's my fault I don't know more because I wasn't attentive enough to address the facts._ A tiny sigh left her as delicate brows furrowed, and the girl would succumb to the mental lashing. _No wonder the others don't think of me as fit to lead... Look at how disorganised I am. A little concentration doesn't go astray, Zelda._ _Bad form._

Even as this wordless exchange occurred between the secretive couple, Themis gave his stiff reply to the Regent with rehearsed confidence, gradually drawing Ganondorf's scowling features back upon himself.

"Yes, Sire. We were under great strains to see the task completed in such a short time span with the discretion you've pressed upon us, but indeed, all of the security measures are in place." offered up with notable heed of the Sheikah's threat, the man would tug nervously upon his coat before sweeping a hand over brown hair. "Only a few aesthetic touches remain which, I assure you, should hold no bearing upon your confidence. It shall be well guarded."

For a moment, Zelda's gaze followed Themis as he spoke beside her betrothed—puffing some and trying to keep speed with the Regent as he was—only to recognise him from the morning she had met the Sage Rauru. The man held a strange resemblance to her father, and instantly a familiar bitterness came bubbling up in her chest as the both of them seemed almost keen to leave distance between her and themselves. A part of her suddenly wished for Sir Shadrian's presence, knowing that the wiry old scholar would provide the bridge she needed to be more directly involved... it struck the Princess as odd that he wasn't among them already, given his love of history.

But a tired blink allowed the men some reprieve from her resentful attention. Her eyes still hurt from the tears earlier, and her reticence would hide a hoarse throat; the Princess knew she must've seemed a little sickly. At first she had hoped that was what had diverted attention from her; perhaps the courtsmen gave her ample space out of consideration. Though, the more time went on, she dismissed that thought further. Normally, she would've been thankful for Sheik to hold the spotlight off of herself, as he so often did, but now it seemed painfully clear that this was no matter of mercy or convenience. Even had she been in fine spirits, the choice was not hers at present—he was in command, and she was simply _his_ shadow.

Zelda was suddenly the child again, ignored by a court that didn't care for her and a 'King' that distracted them wonderfully from her presence.

Still she was silent as they talked around her. A balding man to her left piped up to supplement the other, and the Princess' eyes snapped to him harshly, knowing that nobody would notice her growing glare. She didn't even know his name or title; hardly recognised the elder at all. Leaning closer to the Sheikah ahead, this one was quick to faun, chasing some recognition and perhaps trying to climb another rung on the court's ladder.

"Indeed, the last detailing on the masonry is being carried out over the course of the next few days. In respect and gratitude to his Holiness' blessings, we've set some of our best Royal artisans to the build as well..." the sound of his smile was evident in his voice, a subtle pride to it.

"I've seen their work with stained glass thus far. Giving such reverence to the past, I must say, even the Sages themselves will think it a fitting resting place when the chamber is completed. The sculptors are at work on a statue to disguise the opening as well—understandably, most of us felt that a giant slab of stone, while effective as a barrier, did seem a somewhat obvious entrance."

A few chuckles rang out in a private and subdued joke that the Princess did not quite get, cementing her position as being out of this loop. Themis only added to it with light, almost unsure humour, "Yes, the Hero's eyes should be most watchful indeed, concerning his own blade."

The disguised Gerudo, however, did not share in such subtle mirth. Unseen by Zelda behind him, and only thinly veiled to the men at his call, his mouth twisted with a sneering grimace. Though part of him tried to hold it back, the past week had already stripped him of most of his patience and forced temperance. He should've guessed such an insulting effigy as the boy, immortalised in stone, might mar his progress, marking it as if to mock him. A reminder by coincidence or fate that he had not come away victorious quite yet.

Cold with a hint to his lack of respect or care for such meaningless detail, it came a mutter with only the slightest pause in his step, bandaged hands clenched into fists.

"...Reverence, you say?" he repeated distastefully, "Ah yes… Passing off the bloodied rags of history for rare silks, how could I expect any less..." his sarcasm was well hidden in the grip of sleepless eyes, passed off as a bored musing from a tired mind. "I suppose creative liberties are always taken, though. Only the best and most glamorous will do, even if it comes with a cost to truth, thanks to the artist's bias."

A tiny flicker of confusion flew about for it, but even before the first eyebrow had fully lifted, the supposed Sheikah continued to dismiss his statement from their attention.

With a negligent wave of his hand, he sighed, closing gold flecked eyes with impatience. "I don't care what fineries you drape over it. I only require that no man can lay hands to it without the presence of their sovereign."

As he felt a subdued silence settle around him then, Ganondorf's jaw tensed with the want to say more, but the better judgement to hold his tongue until he had prepared something more appropriate overcame it. Bulky arms folded over his chest, stifling the annoying flutter of cotton as his strides quickened, drawing an audible wheeze from Themis as he tried to keep up.

If only that fool Badon had a better sense for timing, he might've been in a better mood to deal with such news—even so; he couldn't fault the idiot for his fortunate haste in achieving the goals set to him. Between the meeting this morning and dealing with the child's haughtiness, however, Ganondorf's tolerance for the company of councilmen had worn very thin.

He knew both Zelda and himself were out of sorts, and just when it had seemed he'd squashed one thing to go slightly awry, the minute they had set foot back in the castle had seen them presented with another. Without even time enough to take the Princess aside and soften the surprise as more of his affairs came to light, the Gerudo was ticking on how to turn this around already—his tiny fiancée was growing wary behind him, but there was no way to tell if her taciturn mood was a blessing or a curse.

The Regent had pulled her reigns harshly at the lakeside tonight, but knowing her affinity for wild horses, anything to challenge what he'd told her so soon may see the girl rear up to throw him off again very shortly.

He could feel it in his bones; if he didn't handle this delicately, it could see everything fall to pieces in a matter of moments.

_Another explanation I don't have as yet, _his eyes rolled beneath their lids and fingers twitched for such frustration. _If she catches on to the fact I can't touch the damned thing, there's no lie I'll be able to give her to assuage any suspicions that will come of it. _Grinding his teeth, he cast a paranoid glance to a suit of armour as he passed by, taking stock of his disguised reflection. _Maybe I underestimated Valenzuela, somewhat... If I had known he'd pull it off this quickly, I could've prepped her today while we were alone. _

Breaking him from such thoughts, however, came a subtle murmur behind him. A jolt ran through him when he heard it, paranoid of Zelda's voice and lending a visible flinch to broad shoulders. A glance given to Themis confirmed it as Ganondorf saw the man's attention pull back and though they had missed what she'd said, all had heard the tiny Princess finally speak. Instinct screamed at him to ignore it, but the pitiable mew halted him to look back at the child, brows furrowed in question as his gaze sought hers.

The councilmen followed suit when they noticed the Regent's pause, coming to a slow stop in wait of a sign to continue. None of them had even truly taken note of Zelda behind them, some slight shock coming for it when they realised she had been the first to stop, standing stoic and forgotten several paces back.

All eyes were upon her then, though Zelda held only the golden glint of her fiancé's gaze in a quietly piercing stare. It almost took the disguised Gerudo aback to see her looking so hollow, the fire in those crystalline eyes notably quelled—_This had better be good, _he thought, gesturing toward her as if inviting her to finally join them.

"Did you wish to add something, Zelda?" he chanced then, rich timbre flowing from a falsely accommodating smile. Biting back on his discomfort for the risk involved in letting her speak freely in front of the others, the slightest narrowing of his eyes sent her private warning; one he knew would not be lost on her. "You have been very quiet on the matter."

To his surprise, the girl waited silently to hold the stare a moment longer, not even a glance given to their company as bare toes curled upon the red runner. Her hands were still, her ears did not twitch; none of her fidgeting seemed evident at all, and that gave the Gerudo a strange sense of apprehension. After all, those were her calling cards for anxiety, and though he knew well she would be a violent sandstorm of emotion inside, the fact that she could hide it so well—fresh after a breakdown—seemed very odd indeed. Standing as still as a porcelain doll, Zelda fought her numerous tics for the sake of their company's judgement, not realising the advantage such a thing gave her over her fiancé as well.

"...Yes, your Highness." from beside the Regent, Themis eyed her as well, his hands drifting behind his back as if to restrain from dismissing her. "Do speak up, if you've a query of any kind?" There was something entirely condescending about his smile that she hated.

She glossed over their faces as she finally allowed her attention to wander, for upon every man's visage was the almost damning looks she recalled from when she had first stumbled in from the festival with the Sheikah. Nothing had changed. Sheik stood where her father would once have been, surrounded by a flock of nobles past their prime; withered faces and upturned noses given to the wayward child among them.

Hidden distain, she supposed... _They're used to answering to a King, after all. Far be it from any of them to take orders from a girl… I wonder if my condition would change their minds, if only I could be certain of it so early._ Tentative fingertips breezed the fabric over her stomach to that thought, but she pushed it to the back of her mind, volatile as that information was.

She new she couldn't blame them for it, truly. There was nothing for her to present to them as good reason to follow her lead, presently. She had driven them all to resent her for her childish and selfish ways, deluding herself into thinking it mature at the time. No, little Zelda was simply not ready to rule as yet, in their minds. It mattered not that she would be married, or how tall she'd become, or that she possessed a woman's chin... to the men of her father's court, she would always be that vexatious little girl covered in grass stains.

_No. Bad form upon us all… Whether I am ready for the throne or not, I am still the Heir apparent. These are __**my **__courtiers, inherited from my Father, and they should start acting like it. Sheik is right, I shouldn't be so selfishly whimsical, but it would be even more so to disregard the gravity of this acquisition for fear of a council's opinion. _Icy pink lips held a slight perse before parting into a definitive sound, clear and concise for all to hear.

"Me."

A curious cock of his head was given as the disguised Gerudo didn't quite catch her meaning, matching the bored or otherwise confused frowns of the other men, wrinkles deepening about grimaces. A silver brow rose expectantly as thick fingers began to rap upon his bicep, and the Regent grew impatient.

"_You_ what, Zelda?" eyeing her carefully, a slight snarl took him, hoping the sudden attention might—at the very least—make her think carefully upon whatever she wished to say.

Her paled features betrayed nothing for him to go on as Zelda allowed herself a slow blink, drawing a calming breath. Elaborating further, the Princess inclined her head to nod toward the Regent himself, golden tresses swaying listless to frame her cold features. "You said that no man shall lay hands to the Master Sword unless their sovereign is present. Technicalities aside, I think everyone here can agree that, under such important circumstances as that Blade's security, the Royal bloodline's heir would take precedence over a Regent's authority... In fact, aside from my delegating many responsibilities to you, Sheik, it always has."

A tiny, forced smile flickered upon the corners of her mouth, sent to sweep the men gathered around the Sheikah so loyally before her crystalline gaze returned to him. "His Holiness gave his blessing to _me_, and made it clear that this artefact would be _my _responsibility. Therefore, I can only assume you mean to imply that _my_ permission and presence is required, and in this case, would supersede all others aside from the Sage himself."

Stepping forward, she would raise a finger to wag it at them, much like Sir Shadrian did when on a roll with one of his 'spinning diddle' tales. "In fact, I would amend your order further. I want that chamber sealed and without breach—once the stained glass is put in place—to await the presence of the Hero. It will only be opened on _**my**_ order, thereafter, when I deem a man fit to be that Hero by the divine Wisdom gifted to me."

The tiniest flutter of victory stirred in her heart as the withered men seemed to recoil from the notion, as if disgusted by the truth of it, barely able to hide their disapproval. To add insult to injury, the girl continued to pad forward with a gentle sway of skirts, glasslike jaw tilted upwards to shun them all. They deserved to taste their own bitter medicine, she thought.

"As such, I'm afraid I will be dismissing all of you from here. Go back to whatever business you were attending before the weapon arrived, and Sheik and I shall inspect it in privacy. The only member of court I require at the moment is Sir Shadrian for his relevant knowledge of the artefact in question. The rest of you surely have better things to be doing, and as your Regent often says, our time is precious and not to be wasted..." With a saccharine grin, she would gesture toward Themis as she passed him, her hand waving in a shooing motion to be expected of a young royal. "So please, do fetch him promptly."

Twisting to follow the girl as wild eyes flickered in silent fury, the disguised Gerudo stiffened with a want to shake and roar. _Does the brat retain nothing?! Fresh from a verbal lashing and already, she seeks to usurp me like this…? Damn it all!_ He screamed internally, arms tightening over his chest so fiercely his hands began to tingle.

Grinding teeth for such audacious behaviour, as he watched the Princess elegantly meander onward without pause, leaving the stunned and probably affronted councilmen—and _himself_—behind her. But he found, to his chagrin, that he couldn't fault the opportunity she'd given them. Indeed, to view the sword without the prying busybodies flocking about to catch him out in his lack of preparation, and afford ample privacy in which to manipulate the girl further, _was_ advantageous.

The scholar she favoured was certainly no hassle to get around, either... though her flippancy for protocol was going to be hard to bounce back from now. Clearly she didn't fear the court's opinions of her any longer, or at least, had twisted his words into an excuse not to by simply excluding them from her affairs where not necessary.

Thus destroying the careful imagery he had painted of a timid and unsure princess, yet in need of much guidance, before the court's eye. Fleeting though it was, and easily set aside, what Zelda had flashed in that sweet smile of hers was an eerie confidence—her seemingly calm and almost carefree dismissal of the men gathered was as clear an echo of her father as they might ever see in her.

Traits the men would recognise and accept as the mark of leadership blossoming were it consistent… but for the moment, no true damage had been done to his hold on her father's court, and he intended for it to stay that way.

None of the courtiers had dispersed as ordered, a few whispers burning the Regent's ear about his ward's lack of decorum and sheer disrespect for the gravity of their situation. Ganondorf could feel the looming spectre of doubt about whether she would be fit for a queen when they married swirling around him—he had put great effort into keeping their perception of the Princess in the grey, neither favourable nor terribly inept. That was the safest way he could maintain control of Hyrule's affairs while still sharing authority with the girl. If her stubbornness cost him influence, she would pay dearly for it, though silently the Gerudo resolved to get to the bottom of her near bipolar behaviours.

Something simply wasn't adding up, though he'd done all that he could to reign her in.

With a squint, Themis' hushed voice washed over him to bring him back from his thoughts.

"Sire...?" Even as the supposed Sheikah shot him a glance, the offence taken by the girl's brash dismissal was evident upon the courtier's face. Even so, it was only on the disguised Gerudo's order that he would actually take his leave.

"Indulge her for the moment." biting it out though clenched teeth, Ganondorf would relent with frustrated sigh, letting his arms return to his sides with an air of reluctance as he made the first few steps to follow her. "I have it all in hand, either way. Despite what our young Zelda has said, _I_ would strongly suggest you take your time in summoning the scholar... I think it would be best if I settle her before she gets too 'excitable', and unfortunately, Sir Shadrian has a rather amplifying affect on her moods. The very _moment_ Badon shows his face, however, notify me immediately."

"Of course, Sire, within the echo of his boot fall, I shall send you word." Sweeping a humbled hand over golden buttons upon his coat front, the noble quirked a brow, bowing his head low in a secretive manner.

"…But if I may be so bold… You know well of our worries concerning the Princess' behaviour of late. I assure you, nothing of them will reflect upon your own standing among my peers, though I would implore you steady the last of her childlike haughtiness with haste. These glimmers of a true ruler in her must be tempered with grace and maintained… I need not tell you that the reception of your marriage may rely upon it, let alone the fate of us all when evil does present itself in person. Far be it from this council to undermine your wise decision or the order of our fair Princess, however there are certain standards she must meet if she is to be wed, you understand. We could do nothing to stop her as the heir, but if the people are presented with a child when they are in need of a Queen…"

A grim silence took hold as they all gave pause, wrinkled gazes turning to meet one another as most held their tongues anxiously. Themis, drawing cautious breath, finished with a solemn incline of his head. "…there would be panic in the streets, Sire, when darkness arrives and it becomes apparent they have nobody fit to defend them from it. The denizens of this great nation are only as strong as the one who would lead them. If a child steps forth, only to falter… then they will _all_ be no better than children, quivering with fear for the dark."

Ganondorf could easily see where this was headed; staring after the wayward Princess' path with a heavy scowl for the trouble she'd left in her wake. "Zelda seems in a mood to play favourites, Themis, nothing more. It is a shallow thing, remnants of old habit and the terse relationship between herself and the council in younger days—days that are swiftly fading, at that. Her dislike for your men doesn't reflect how she will rule this country. You would do well to remember she has lost her father and gained much responsibility to replace him in a short time. Thus far, she has held her mind in good tact for her age and nature despite it."

It was only partly a lie, but the truth writhing within it stained his tongue with a bitter taste. "Don't be so hasty to form your opinions… I hold faith in her still, and so should you all."

Themis, searching for the words on the edge of his tongue, fell second for a moment as another nobleman stepped forward from the paling group behind, cautious and humble as he gave the truth.

Hands held open to the Regent with a helpless shine in small set eyes, he murmured slowly through a greying beard with pathos. "We have had every faith in her; that she would come into herself with time… we always have… but we do not have time on our side, and that is why we are fearful for her capacities. Her father, may the Goddesses rest his Majesty's soul, often used to speak of her in court with much the same optimism and consideration you also allow for her. Heeding him, we have been patient in the wait of her budding maturity, and made many exceptions for her conduct. She would return us with refusal for tradition and decorum, and that too we have accepted as far as leniency beckons…"

Closing his eyes, the elder would sigh, as if sorry for the poor Princess and what the world demanded of her so soon. "But we cannot wait on her Highness any longer—every great leader must make a sacrifice, and now it is Zelda's turn. As Sir Themis has said, Hyrule will fall to peril if it is without a stable leader to guide it through the times ahead. Wisdom will transform her into a fine Queen when her sixteenth year falls, but we do not have the luxury of relying on such blessings now… If all is as it seems, we may have until years' end at the very most for this evil to strike. She must be properly groomed, and we must set about it now."

The supposed Sheikah refused to face them still, though cemented by his colleague, Themis' thoughts found purchase with a reluctant nod of agreement, his head bowed in some shame for it.

"Lord Dotour speaks well for us all, I'm afraid. This council's purpose is to advise on what is best for this country, and sadly, her Highness' disregard for such advice is rather… _startling_. She would not be groomed, her attention is prone to wandering, she has little respect for—or too little experience to recognise—what protocol demands of her status… given her authority does indeed, as she mentioned, take precedence over yours, especially after her coronation Sire… when that occurs there will be nothing more we can do to influenceher decisions, if she still does not wish to listen."

Clearing his throat quietly, a note of conspiracy wavered upon Themis' tone. "…We can only bend to circumstance insofar as doing so does not worsen our situation. You've provided a great service to the Throne, but with respect, we fear your ward is not yet prepared to take the helm as aptly as you have. Your reports on her progress reflect this as well, however fondly you might deliver them. _We_ cannot control or persuade her away from this marriage truly, but if she doesn't improve shortly, perhaps… _you_ should convince her to delay it… if only to ensure an experienced man—that is to say, one possessing a more _tactical_ mind, in knowing exactly what we're up against—is to call the shots of any battle to come of course, for the good of the People. In the meantime, this court will prepare Zelda to take the Throne _after_ this evil has been subdued."

Pausing only a moment more to send a restless glare over his large shoulder, the disguised Gerudo took dire heed of such words, matching them with a controlled defensiveness. Bandaged fingers flexed and fell away from his chest, a subtle twitch flowing through sculpted musculature. The hidden sneer crawled back across his mouth, and Ganondorf's hatred for the pompous court doubled—all of them utterly useless without the word of a superior; disposable toys that had thus far only served to help his conditioning of Zelda.

Their usefulness was quickly drawing to a close, now that the Princess had outgrown her fears of their judgement and realised her actual position upon the hierarchy; the power she had come into all too swiftly.

The Power he had stolen from her.

It irritated him to no end that they were now trying to manipulate _him_, subtle though they probably thought themselves… _Hiding behind the 'good of the people'… why, it almost sounded sincere. _Gold stained eyes narrowed, a hateful smirk taking him and drawing an odd and unsure look from Themis. _Perhaps Zelda has a fair point to make of these insipid cretins—indeed, replacements wouldn't go astray. I may even pick them out myself… or at least tell them of such danger._

With a deep chuckle, his lips curved into a sinister reflection of his amusement, continuing on from his thoughts. "Yes… nothing gets men motivated like the threat of power removed from their hand." He mused aloud, the feral smirk growing wider for the irony of it. By Din's Fire, indeed, he could sympathise with that notion very well.

"…Excuse me, sire…?"

"Let's not mince words here, Themis…" he rumbled smugly, a confident cocking of his brow given.

"Your council wants what is best for _yourselves_. If you all do well, you're content enough in the assumption that this country's people do also, correct? Likewise, if the country falls to ruin and its peoples are scattered, who would the lords have to lord over? Empathetic though I am to your experience in politics, and the respect you feel you should command for it… you no doubt understand that none of you shall _ever_ be in her favour."

Gold tainted eyes flashed about sharply, ensuring that not one man escaped his scrutiny. "Even now, I expect she intends to find new blood to surround herself with at the earliest convenience…" bandaged fingers shifted to hold his chin thoughtfully, a tap given to the side of his jaw. "She's quite fond of the members left to the royal orchestra, in fact. Sir Shadrian, of course, has moved his pieces over to the Princess' board already…."

Another throaty chuckle left him. "…Clever of him. I'm sure he will tell you all of the Holy Sword's splendour." the Regent finished slyly, poisonous and aloof in his wait for reactions.

The withered group of advisors seemed to shrink back at such hissed words, knowing full well of Zelda's distaste as wrinkled eyes widened with some shock—no, there was no denying the Sheikah spoke honestly. A round of glances, paranoid men that were now realising with painful clarity their days of influence were numbered, flew about the hall in a sombre and stark moment as the Regent's words reached pointed ears. Without any comfort offered to them, the disguised Gerudo continued with a cold and matter of fact tone, staring each of them down with a posture that couldn't be challenged by any of the frail courtiers gathered.

"It is not her refusal to listen to you, but rather that you all have not heard her in turn, that poses our problems. If any of you had, many of you would've already accepted a graceful retirement and set forth your resignations... I have managed to dissuade her from any overly rash decision thus far on this council's behalf, but if any of you want to overstep the clear line she's drawn in the sand, consider it your final act of court."

His gaze travelled them before returning to Themis, and with an amused scoff Ganondorf took stock of his attire. "…I'm not sure if the pianist will fit into your coat, however, so you may still walk away with the clothes on your back, if nothing else."

Stepping closer with the want to hush him, almost frantic for the unrest it stirred in the other members, Themis would plead quietly with the disguised Gerudo; stuttering some with disbelief for how candid their leaders had been.

"S-surely you would not let her simply… _toss_ us aside on such whims…? With respect, the esteemed members of this court might be passed their prime, but is that not the proof of an advisor's success? To call upon new members, inexperienced as they would be, in such a tumultuous time as this... and to dismiss those remaining of any worth in turn...!"

A light shake of his head saw him stare, noticing for the first time the awful gold in the Regent's eyes; unwavering and cold. "You cannot allow such a thing… Please, Sire, for the good of us all, you must continue to dissuade such thoughts from her! Musicians for a privy council to a child-Queen, as a veritable war looms upon our horizon…? That is ridiculous, Sire!"

"Ridiculous perhaps, but a very realistic outcome if you trifle too far into her affairs, like you have been recently." Scoffing coldly, Ganondorf's algid disregard of the pompous men gathered made Zelda's apparent distaste seem desirable by comparison. "The girl is not her father, Themis. She has no tolerance or sympathy for decrepit old autocrats who do not wish to give up their flimsy seats of borrowed power."

As those words echoed out to sting the ears of all gathered, the Gerudo would turn to spit his poison to Themis privately, gripping his shoulder to draw him in closer.

"Preach the gospel of protocol and decorum in your defence if you like, but _you_ at least seem to understand that social standing does not exemplify one from a horrible fate. Tradition, too, loses some of its sheen when faced with the blackened and murderous heart of a bastard like the King of Thieves... the only etiquette he shall show you is a smile as he watches frantic stallions tear you asunder."

"…S-sire… I … understand that, but…" Themis paled somewhat at the thought, but found personal horror stripping him of the want to speak further.

That vindictive gold in his eyes sharpened cruelly upon the man's own, and there was little mercy to be found there in the fiery gaze. "…As does Zelda. She knows this far better than your petty courtiers seem to realise. If any of you had taken the time to know and listen to your future Queen truly, her behaviours would not seem so strange. They are the culmination of a young woman's preparations for her own bleak destiny... and you should all start moving to heed your own."

Drawing back as the Regent released his grip, a slight shudder was drawn from Themis; the courtier seeming to visibly shrink into a pensive and anxious coward. Relishing such fear, delicious and rare thing it was to taste so freshly these days, the disguised Gerudo raised his voice to the rest of them again with a bitter and sweeping glance.

"I intend to marry Zelda as she wishes, _when_ she wishes, and nothing short of the flames of Hell itself could delay me in doing so. Whether the child is a Queen or a Princess, she is the same, just as I remain unchanged between an attendant, a Regent, or even a Prince Consort. _My_ hand will still guide hers until Wisdom is upon her, so it makes little difference _who_ you follow between us, or even if you are a part of this council. It has always been _my_ role to advise her, keeping her and guarding her… you are merely accessories now, there for show and little else, and have been since first I played her lullaby."

From the shocked faces, Lord Dotour would step forward once more, his worn visage looking somehow more aged with the resentment it carried. The flash of teeth from between grey facial hair boasted a veiled sneer, and promptly—with notable courage before his peers—the elder would level a bony, bejewelled finger toward the Regent with haste.

"This council of advisors has been in the Royal family's service for many years longer than you have been present, Sheikah. If you and your ward wish to disregard these esteemed members in your arrogance, then I pray your guidance to her is nothing short of _divine_. I would remind you, however, that the fruits of your success with the Princess as yet remain to be seen."

His fellows either side stepped back from the Lord with hushed awe, disbelief for such a reaction to their Regent's more vicious intemperance—most knew better than to challenge the Sheikah that would hold the place of a King. Superstition from times of old held firmly to the presence of death about the clan, clawed hands reaching out to pluck the life from you if you raised a warrior's ire.

But at such brave dissent, the Regent would simply laugh, callous and dismissive of the old fool. "Ah, so there is at least one among you fit to be called 'nobility'. Speak your piece, Dotour. Surely, having held one of the longest tenures in court, you might offer me sound advice?" _One less mind to sway, if you take your leave now. _

Holding to his convictions, disgusted by the turn he'd witnessed of a man he would otherwise respect, Dotour would not let the Sheikah's words pass easily. Settling the Regent with a narrow stare, the very last shades of blue in the elder's hair served as the only hint to his heritage; a House that had served loyally for centuries and knew well of what such speeches often preceded.

"If she is to fail, and this country fall…" his hand dropped away and a stern glare replaced it as the elder turned to retreat, "…then it will be upon your clan alone such dishonour falls. Your people have already betrayed the Crown once."

With a stifled gasp, Themis would interject quickly, his hand held toward his colleague pleadingly. "Lord Dotour, please… I implore you, think about what you're saying—you would border upon treason…!" another round of frantic whispers went off like an alarm to that, and the disguised Gerudo's terrible smirk grew.

But the elder did not waver, turning his withered gaze to the other with mournful conviction. "I can not speak treason against a man who is not my King. You know it as well as I, Themis. Every man gathered knows that what we are led by is fear, whether we voice such a thing or not. Have we truly become such cowards that we must be herded like sheep toward order? I spoke truly; I have had every faith in her Highness. She is a child of Destiny, bright and bursting with potential yet untapped… but it is clear to me now why she has lingered too long in her progress, and so it should be to you all."

A damning glance was sent toward the supposed Sheikah, and the elder would shake his head. "He too had great potential, and that is why we follow him in such dire times… but if this is the truth of his opinions of us, then surely, the leader will become a tyrant in time. If the Princess would marry him, he will only hold her back."

Again the rich rumble of laughter rang out, carelessly amused by it all, and the flash of gold grew stronger to briefly eclipse crimson. "Look to your elder, men. Hopelessness has consumed him…" reigning in this terrible joke, the Gerudo would hold hands behind his back and stand tall in the face of such accusations upon his character—too little, too late. As he quirked a brow, daring, he drew his smirk into a forced grimace to match the gravity of what he would imply.

"This is what I had warned you of. This is the state of paranoia and suspicion that threatens to take us over, with such a sinister fate looming upon the horizon. The Sage who has visited us warned of Evil's presence here already." Bandaged fingers flicked outward, gesturing to the stone walls around them.

"Malevolent spirits roam these halls, preying upon the weak and enfeebled… those of frail hearts, not unlike the Rancher who sold his and his family's souls to darkness. Once good people, decent and hardworking, left broken by tragedy and picked clean of their moralities in the struggle to reclaim their lives." He lied seamlessly, reviving the rumours that had long been whispered here. "If you agree with Dotour, then you succumb to the will of evil that would pull apart our defences one by one, if need be. Don't give into it… we must all have faith to face the times ahead, and make sacrifices to persevere."

By force of habit or fear, perhaps even in denial of the truth they knew Dotour spoke of, with their Regent's words, the crowd grew subdued. Eyes drew off and to the side, as if to look upon their opposed colleague would stain their vision and taint them as well. Heads hung in despair for a fellow lost in the haze and chaos of it all. Voices died within frail chests and the slow, subtle retreat from the elder became apparent. Themis, standing there torn between an old friend and the sovereign he served—the only man that still held the flame of hope strongly in his grasp—like a moth, quickly turned toward the light; his hand falling away from the Lord, sullen and limp by his side.

The elder's sorrow flashed across withered features as the betrayal became evident, and with parting words forming on his tongue, Lord Dotour would give a long and defeated sigh. Turning to the Sheikah once more, for the very last time, the courtier bowed his head in resignation. He would accept the Gods' designs, whatever they might be… though his prayers would be sent often, desperate that this country be delivered from an onslaught of evil. Perhaps when Zelda inherited Wisdom's gift, she would see the grave error that had been made, and rectify it accordingly.

"I cannot, and will not, clamour to be a part of any court that would toy with fate so boldly. Do as you wish, Sentinel, and may the Gods fare you with mercy and favour… for the sake of us all…" he winced, shaking his head with pathos, "But I fear Zelda's haughtiness finds its cause for reasons much more disappointing than childishness. If that is true… then you, Sheik, are no cure to it. Your arrogance will lead her further astray, and power shall corrupt you both. I shall have no part of it, if there is nothing I can do to prevent it. I can only hope the Hero finds us soon enough to put the world right once more and, with any luck, remind you of who you are and why you came to us at all."

Turning from them all—from not only the Regent who would disgrace his position with pride and power lust, but the men of court; old friends that would abandon their own to the wolves circling their posts—the elder made a dignified retreat. His steps echoed lonely within the stark and silent hall, all quiet as the shock of what had happened, and indeed the natures revealed to them, began to sink in with an awful bite. The Lord's words lingered in pointed ears a moment longer as he left them, these notions of sheep that moved to the beck and call of their shepherd, and those gathered were left to ponder the futility of fighting such a thing now were it true. It mattered not of cowardice, or honour. The Sheikah was their only conceivable avenue if they were to survive the coming darkness and see the Kingdom found peace at the end of it.

Ganondorf knew this fact all too well, and in spite, his rich timbre rolled out to fill the hall once again; drawing his faithful flock back to him.

"Gentlemen… If you would truly have me rule you as the shadows crawl over this land, regardless of doubt or protocol, then you must trust my judgement _now_. Zelda _will_ be the Queen this country so sorely needs to meet this threat, and so long as I stand by her side, its people _will_ see that. Even if it must be cast in illusion for the moment, it is your duty to hold them in such a spell…" A cruel twist took the curve of his mouth, baring the subtle flash of his canines as he flexed the leverage held over them.

"You all work for the good of the people and the stability of this nation, after all… do you not?" It was so smooth, bitter with irony and victorious, and the Gerudo knew he had them in his palm alone.

With an understanding—and thoroughly subdued—nod, Themis would signal for his cohorts to part ways with the Regent then, a few knowing glances sent the Sheikah's way as an unsure and much smaller tone left the courtier. "Of course we do… that is the purpose of this council, no matter what unfortunate circumstance befalls us otherwise, and we shall continue to serve loyally for as long as yourself and her Highness see fit to... have us. By your leave, Sire… We shall speak no more of it. I shall send for Sir Shadrian in short order."

It was no secret between them that he managed the girl better than anyone else. If there was any man to forge of the child a reasonable approximation of her father, it was her attendant, and this was part of the reason his marriage to her met with little resistance. He may temper them a fine ruler out of the wayward and impressionable Zelda, if only he was given the opportunity to influence her strongly enough where they clearly could not... their interference, it seemed, would only serve to hinder such progression. Dotour was simply wrong about where the blame lay; he had to be, or all hope was already lost.

Even as the Regent would swiftly round the corner of the corridor, his reflection a blur upon the burnished metal of the armoured suits that lined the halls, the court members were resigned to letting him assuage the Princess' unsavoury mood in privacy…

All of them were painfully aware that if he could not, their positions would likely pay the price in due course; unnecessary as they seemed to have become.

Lengthy strides allowed Ganondorf to tail her quickly, the artificial points to his ears perking to follow the softly padded sound of her steps, until he too marched through the foreboding marble archway that opened out into a high vaulted chamber. The Princess was already gone from his line of sight when he stepped out onto the cold stone, chill unhindered by the lack of carpeted runners—it was a stiflingly sparse expanse he found, as gold stained eyes roamed it.

Unassuming enough, he supposed, lined by columns and looking rather more like it was to be a dining hall, save only for the giant slab of granite placed in the center of it all, opened as it currently was to reveal a path to the secret cavity below. Cream coloured walls and plainly lacquered fixtures gave the chamber an understated look, a few portraits here and there to feign the routine normality of the Castle décor. Passing beneath him as he strode toward the downward stairway, embossed by the masons, the crest of the holy relic was laid out upon the floor; the only lonely prelude to the secret of the statue that was to reside here.

A statue of the boy, no less, to hide the weapon he had once wielded against—and now lost to—his greatest foe.

Taking one last cautious scan of the chamber as he left it behind him, the disguised Gerudo began the secretive descent, muted steps echoing out in the stillness of the air. At the bottom of them, the Princess stood waiting with her back to him, lingering upon the small plateau that split the stairs to each side of her and overlooking the misplaced scene below.

In the dim flicker of torchlight, the glow of them winking dull upon the blade, the legendary Master Sword itself stuck fast—pedestal and all—into freshly laid stone flooring, a circular design working outward from its base. Grand statues like the ideal of the knights of old towered imposingly about the blade's new resting place, massive though blunt blades of their own held at the ready as if they might come to life at any moment to defend it. As one of the nobles had mentioned, indeed it was obvious there was to be stained glasswork inlaid to the alcoves gracing the walls of this private place.

A decorative moat of water surrounded the holy weapon's perch, perfectly still and bereft of any comforting trickle. When Ganondorf finally came to a halt beside his ward, staring down at the sight with all the quiet awe of seeing such a thing firsthand, it was as if time itself had stopped with him to contain the room in its own silent realm; whitewashed and paled by the gravity of what it held.

There was no doubting what they saw, not a word between found to comment on the vision presented to them—perhaps, in that moment, both the Princess and the Gerudo King were pristinely aware of themselves as separate from any story that may have come before. Their future seemed set in stone, just as much as the Master Sword below them now did, resting weary and faded from its travels… but whatever fate that future held remained a mystery still, and neither one of them could deny the chill sweeping their spines at such a thought.

Finally, almost distractedly, Zelda's head would tilt toward him, though crystalline eyes could not be torn from the weapon below. "I'm sorry if I seem to be too bold with the court…" She offered gently, barely above a whisper, as if to speak any louder would shatter the world around them with such volume.

"I haven't forgotten what we discussed today, but I have been thinking on it as we walked. I know it probably isn't the best limb to go out on, but I don't want them to be involved too heavily where this artefact is concerned. I don't mean to deride you either, Sheik, but it's true. He did burden me with the responsibility for this decision, and all things aside, I cannot bend on that fact…"

A small sigh left her, and long lashes closed ruefully. "…I don't think I have it in me to lead his faith in me astray, as well. If I must be a disappointment to the men of court, then I refuse to become a burden upon the Gods as well. I can reassign new council members when we're in a position to do so, but I can't just wave my hand and choose the Holy Sages, after all. They choose _us_, not the other way around." A half hearted slip of laughter left her for it, cynical, though there was no amusement in it.

Letting his gaze linger on the familiar lines of the blade, the disguised Gerudo scarcely heard her small voice at all, haunted as he was by the ghosting memory made real once more—the delicate criss-crossing downward from the pommel over the grip, the curved sweep of the plum toned guard and the shimmer of the crystal at its hilt; silvered filigree adorning the base of the blade with a holy crest. The moment his paranoid mind recognised the very shape of it, a fleeting flutter moved him with internal aversion. Like a cold snap in the air at first, slowly thickening it within his lungs until it settled at the very bottom of his being with a faint burn, extremities feeling numb already for his proximity to the accursed sword.

Whether this was an instinctual fear, repulsion, or the magical affect of the blade itself upon his person, he couldn't be sure. Swallowing to whet his suddenly parched throat, however, the Regent tore himself away from such fixation to glance down at the comforting—and much preferred—sight of Zelda's golden tresses instead, mentally backtracking to recall what she'd just said with a small and unseen flinch in his hands.

Hinting to his internal unrest, the rich rumble he usually commanded came gravelled and rough, though quiet as thick brows furrowed to a discontented frown.

"Whatever the case, Zelda, it had better be the last of it. In this particular matter, I'll concede that keeping them at arm's length is probably best… but the manner in which you've achieved that may have very real consequences upon how soon you can simply 'reassign' their positions, as you so succinctly put it. But feel free to keep pushing their buttons for your grudge…" he mused sarcastically, scoffing some as bulky arms were folded over his chest, the deceit flowing effortlessly from him. "…If you're lucky, we may be married by the time you're thirty. We need the council's backing, and you need to impress them for it, at least for the time being."

Unbeknownst to the Princess, the reality of the disguised Gerudo's hold over the Council would ensure all things went smoothly for as long as he allowed them to—and would have disgusted Zelda were such a thing ever to come to light. She would never have expected the true power of the courtiers now rested solely with her husband to be, and he would likely never reveal it to her, sensitive as she was to being 'managed'. The withered men had very little to do with whether their marriage would go ahead and never had. In fact, puppeteered by a Regent who took joy in tugging upon such dusty strings, it seemed the Privy Council had always been fated to become little more than a sideshow, distracting Zelda from the real culprit of her miseries. Ganondorf had found it an interesting card to play thus far; pitting his ward against them, and vice versa.

Likewise, as he had discovered since becoming Regent, the paranoid old fools making up her congress were far more fearful of the whimsical Royals than the King of Evil's return. Torn between worries for a loss of influence and what may become of the country they helped govern, since the death of their King, the council was left in shambles. Their thin façade of stoicism allowed him to forge of them a shadowy monster, haunting Zelda's thoughts and staying any real attempt from her to usurp his new authority.

All things aside, it suited them well to be in his palm, rather than hers... at the very least, they knew he would ensure they kept their perch, provided they did as he pleased. They hadn't the courage to risk denying the Regent of anything now, knowing he was apparently the last reliable line of defence they had against an onslaught of evil.

But to defy such comforting thoughts whirling about his head, an idle hand drifted upward from Zelda's side, and the Princess found herself absently toying with the pendant he had given her, distractingly.

Fingertips caressing the glassy stone with affection, a fey smile whispered faintly across her lips. "Don't worry for that too much. Everything seems to be going to plan; I doubt very much of anything will truly stir them to delaying it…" She mused thoughtfully, a knowing gleam to her eye that caught his suspicions. "Once it's announced to the public, there will be little even the Council can do, whether I please them or not."

A distasteful click of his tongue sounded then, and eyeing her from the corner of his vision, the disguised Gerudo grimaced. "That's bordering on cocky, Zelda, to rely on the uproar of peasants to get your way…" he mused roughly, instantly cursing her for such airy disregard—perhaps the Council's worries were not entirely unfounded, he conceded internally, empathetic for them in the difficulty the girl presented sometimes.

With a light roll of his shoulders, he muttered low; spiteful. "…Still clinging to your broken pieces, then, despite my warnings not to…"

Perhaps the usefulness of holding the court against her _had_ passed, after all. He knew he certainly didn't care for them, and if both he and Zelda were to wash their hands of the old men, then so be it. It wasn't as if it would make a liar of him any more than he was at present—not that his track record with royal musicians was much better.

_No matter, _he corrected himself mentally; _they've served their purpose well enough already. The Sword is an ample replacement to bargain with, for her behaviour from here on out…Yes, the Hero himself makes for a far better subject for worry, especially with him' missing in action', as it were. The longer we have the blade and nobody to wield it, the more desperate she'll become. I've stripped her of the want to be an 'individual' already… now, to destroy the blossoming Queen…_

Zelda continued—unaware of his vile thoughts—with a gentle and humble lilt, resting a hand gently upon the wooden banister before her. "Out of all the terrible things Hyrule has seen… having the voice of its peoples be ignored so callously has not been one of them, when under the rule of my family. I am thankful for that, if nothing else, in what it might herald for our reign." Tilting her head to face him, the beauty in her delicate features seemed dimmed to match the atmosphere of the chamber about them, stolen by weariness.

"The people's wants can often change, when their lives are at stake…" with a careful, if not foreboding glance, the Regent would warn her once more. "Your rebelliousness has reached its limits, Zelda. As I've already told you once today, these childish things must be put away. The risk is far too great for you to be bucking necessity; your carelessness will cost us precious time and progress."

A sullen, perhaps whitewashed, maturity wavered about her small form as they stood upon the stone platform, overlooking the very key to their fate. "It may be a risk, but… while I'm sorry for leading them astray so far, to change completely simply to calm everyone, I feel, would be of no more help. Not if it is to be some hollow effigy for an absent personality. How much security can one take from a counterfeit Queen, any more than a child, when it comes to the King of Evil's return? You said he would snatch the crown away from one—what difference is the other?"

Wincing for it all, he sighed, shaking his head. Gold stained eyes darted about the ornate masonry of the ceiling, and bandaged hands tightened into pensive fists; jaw tensed as he listened. He refused to look upon her. He didn't want to see the image of her ancestor taking hold in those moments…

No, more than that. The very thought scared him now, invested as he was in her.

"Without Wisdom, my decisions can only be as good as they are currently. I won't _try_ to be rebellious, Sheik, but I doubt I can truly change anymore either, until whatever my sixteenth year holds. I know I _can_ be a capable Queen by my own merits. It may not be exactly what they expected… I will never be my father… but I will be _enough_. I need to protect and provide for what is important to me, and I need to start learning how to do that now." She offered softly, something demure in her voice slowly building force until it became confident, as if the more she said, the more sure of it she became. "You don't need to keep drawing the attention from me any more; I won't disappoint them if they truly look"

The Princess seemed content in her delusion of 'reassuring' him—no doubt she thought he was being 'squashed' under the scrutiny of her council, and with a grimace he hissed aside. "You and I are not a curtain hiding away a sideshow, Zelda. You've simply have no real experience as yet… I am taking the lead because I know how to handle these things, and more than that, the people that bring them upon us. Of course you will be a capable Queen…" he conceded evasively, his gaze avoiding hers, and she saw his biceps twitch beneath the skin tight garb nervously.

Cautious, and straining to hide any doubt from it, he added quickly, "…When you are _ready_. A little more time to prepare yourself; I will bring you along in due course."

A small and inquisitive twitch of pointed ears responded to the light echo of his voice off of the cold stone, ponderous of how it sounded, but the faint smile she wore grew into a cynical smirk as her gaze turned to find him there. "You've _never_ been one to be caught out of the loop of those around you. I'd like to be more like that… if only it were allowed to me."

The disguised Gerudo could've rolled his eyes, her name sighed with an exhausted hanging of his head. "Zelda…"

But with a higher pitch to over cut him, she continued to interrupt. "You _already_ make a fine ruler with a faithful ear to this country's needs… just as you have to mine. The Council is desperate to re-establish any stability and sense of security they can for the people, even if it can't be completely assured for the moment, and you present them with that opportunity. Whether they want me or not, they won't pass by the chance to have _you_, Sheik. The wedding will go ahead despite whatever they might say otherwise; trust me on that."

Visibly soothed by such praises, the scowl he wore lessened some, and reluctantly, the Regent let softer attention linger upon her features. It was a reassuring thing, at least, that regardless of circumstance, Zelda still held fast to the notion that he would rule beside her.

A thoughtful tensing of his jaw hinted to his want to say something more of the matter, but despite his nigh unreadable expression, Zelda knew what she'd said would placate any of his previous annoyance with her. The sweetness of her soft smile willed it to be so, as a finger tapped the precious stone of her necklace. An evasive hum rolled from his throat for it as he searched for the words he wanted, his ire slowly slipping away with a wag of his jaw.

"No… I suppose they are too desperate now to deny either of us…" he conceded slowly, a tick at the corner of his mouth hinting of a smirk—oh, if only she knew how true that was, and how promising for what he'd planned. Drawing slow breath, he paused, tearing his gaze from her to look downward to the sword once more, wistful as he stared. "Even so… our earlier discussions still stand. You'll still have to mind yourself a little better in future, steeped in old traditions as the gentry tend to be, Zelda. It isn't just the council's opinions that can sway the loyalty of your people. Noble gossip is often more potent than Royal speech."

_Not that that fact will ever change_, he supposed, "But for the most part, you're correct. Our plan _is _unfolding nicely. The blade is in our keep and we are well on track… for now. There is much work to be done as yet, however… let us just hope there are no more surprises."

A furrowing of delicate brows darkened her visage with worry, and Zelda's gaze fell briefly as she thought on what she'd witnessed of her fiancé's rapport with her court. Carefully, and swallowing some of her earlier bitterness, she drew tentative breath. Perhaps the time had come to tell him? No… There was still too many things pressing upon their attentions at present. Even so, the tears she'd shed earlier had not been entirely for selfish reasons. She may have silently given up on being the person she'd wished to be, but that didn't mean she couldn't become a person she had once adored. The Princess was evidently ill matched at filling her father's shoes—Sheik seemed to fit them perfectly, however, regardless of how that worried her.

But it was her mother's footsteps, now that she had thought on it, which seemed to suit her best.

_Surprises…_her mind positively reeled at that, heart sinking low within her chest. _I can't tell him now. I'm not even truly sure of it myself; early as it is…perhaps I might wait until the wedding? No, he'll have to know before that, I can't keep it from him for so long. It wouldn't be right…but then… If I am to be more like Mother, and he will take the role my Father played…I need to know we won't make the same mistakes. _

"I need you to promise me something." She said suddenly, satin gloved fingers curling protectively—hopefully—around the pendant; the gift that marked her womanhood.

A fleeting glance was given before the disguised Gerudo would raise a brow, a patient and inquisitive hum beckoning her to continue as he caught those familiar tics of hers once again. _Ah, good. That's much better, _he noted as he saw her fidgeting with the necklace. Indeed, she did seem suddenly pensive of something, an uncertainty flashing across her lowered gaze.

"I… can't help but notice the way you command the court. It's very similar… well, I mean to say that you seem to emulate… or… rather, you _remind_ me of…" she really did not want to say it out loud, fumbling over the words nervously for how he may take them.

Thankfully, the Regent seemed to read her thoughts instead, a disquieting chuckle rumbling from his throat as he offered to finish it for her, a cynical and knowing curve upon his lips. "…Your father?"

Upon hearing it her ears perked, crystalline eyes snapping up towards him with a want to meet and search his, but the supposed Sheikah's attention fixed fast upon the Master Sword instead. Subtle confusion flashed across her, gaze wavering upon his worn features, but with an accepting blink, she gave a saddened smile; golden tresses swaying to a silent nod.

"Zelda, my Sweet… I take up the role of a King with all seriousness, but I serve you regardless. You mustn't become jealous that I have other duties to attend now, besides you as well." He smiled to himself, a small tingle of pride welling in his chest—it was endearing that she demanded his utmost of attention, even now, clinging to it desperately as if she couldn't breathe without him there.

Delicate features grew pained for a moment, as his words had stabbed into her chest with cruel irony; pale skin prickled to the sound of them. "Sheik, please. That's not entirely what I…" she trailed off to chew her bottom lip, worrisome, but her eyes remained closed to him when her fiancé continued on, tentative about whatever had bothered her.

"I know you do not wish to be managed by me as your father had made a habit of doing. But the council require constant management to function properly. Without somebody to lead them, they would be useless and idle; a mess of cowards quivering in their seats. I don't mean to ignore you, but they are comparable to children and do need constant supervision if they are to behave in a way that doesn't jeopardise what we've planned… and you don't much like dealing with them yourself. Besides which, they don't seem to take you very seriously, unfortunate as that is."

At that, however, charmingly given as it may have been, Zelda returned only a light frown. Icy pink lips twisted with a want to chastise how callously set aside she had been in most affairs of late, though somehow seemed to be the centre of most of it. Gathering her nerves and biting the inside of her cheek, she turned her head back to the sword below.

"Have you not been listening to me?" she snapped suddenly, regretting how it sounded and forcing herself to soften immediately. "…Just because I don't care for them or might replace them, doesn't mean I shouldn't be given the opportunity to right their perceptions of me in the meantime. You say I must be a beacon of light to guide everyone, but how can I do that if they already follow you completely? I'm not allowed to be myself, so the only option left to me for now is to be what is needed and I intend to do that, but it seems nobody wants me to do that either. They flock to you no matter how I act… It's more than obvious that my authority is being pushed to the wayside as much as possible in favour of yours, in their paranoia..."

The annoyance that she had smiled away beforehand seemed to return as she went on, thick brows knitting together in disapproval though Ganondorf tailored it as best he could toward confusion. She was, of course, right in what she was saying… but once again, these were notions he should have already broken her of by now. Increasingly, the girl was no longer so easy to placate—his dishonesty with her was tenuous, fluctuating between veiled truths and outright deceit. But like any girl growing steadily into a woman, the Princess became more complex by the day.

His pride for that growth was matched by the pains she brought with it. But since the tears she'd shed this evening, somewhere between that hopeless last sob and the arrival of the blade they stood before now, something had changed again already within the pale Princess. Perhaps it had been hidden there privately since this morning, and the day before, slowly brought forward to the very surface by the stresses. Dancing across her crystalline gaze, he thought he saw it there, haunting him with the ghost of an era passed—the girl was indeed wise, born to her role. Stray as she might, he could never strip her of such a beautiful mind, and it would always continue on its way, with or without him.

Ganondorf knew he could no longer take back the momentum gained since he'd given her the first little push. Zelda was running barefoot ahead of him in the mists of the unknown, faster and further along with each day, and he could only ever hope to slow her enough to keep pace.

With a tired sigh, gold flecked eyes closed and he brought bandaged fingers to pinch the bridge of his nose as he spoke. "Zelda, really…" he muttered, sounding disappointed more than annoyed. His hand shifted, curling to hold his chin betwixt thumb and forefinger as he levelled the Princess with a long stare. "I thought we talked about this…"

At the gesture though, crystalline eyes widened with horror and frantic to catch him red handed, she turned to point at him accusingly. "There! Right _there…_!" she cried suddenly, breaking him of it with a bemused blink as she frowned upward at her fiancé, hand withdrawing to be held with the other at her hips. "That's _exactly _what my father used to say! You even pinch your nose! This is what I'm talking about, Sheik, ever since you've become Regent; you're just like _him_! It's like we've all gone full circle back to me being seen and not heard, only meant to trail behind and look the part while you and the council get along just fine without me…"

_That is the idea, yes, _the Gerudo's mind hissed internally, teeth grinding as he fought the urge to roll his eyes—she was selectively observant, it seemed, when there were others about him to compare behaviours with. _I knew this father complex of hers would rear its head soon… such is the pitfall of youthful brides, I suppose._

"I'm just like _him_…? I suppose that's suddenly a bad thing—once again—though this morning you seemed perfectly happy to emulate your Father _yourself_, Zelda. What, is the similarity only a poor one when I wear it, or are you grasping at straws because you want to weasel around what I told you today?" inclining his head to glare down at her, the Regent shifted slightly away from the Princess, eager to put some distance between them for the arising spat—she could shriek like a banshee when upset and offended.

"None of them even seemed to _notice_ my presence until I upset the peace… and it wasn't as if you had done anything to point me out!" She spat like a cat in water, cold though she held back most of the bitterness. "_I_ should have been the one they addressed and answered to in the halls, and though I appreciate your want to lessen my burdens and all Sheik, if they—or anyone—are ever to 'take me seriously' then you need to stand aside and let me _try _to lead them! If they still scoff at me, then step in and _redirect_ them rather than just take over! They listen to _you_; tell them to listen to me also. Make room enough for me to join you all and learn, instead of trying to shelter me from my failures, and we'll _all_ be happier for it!"

Stepping aside some, he snorted derisively back to her with a damning sneer. "I lead them where you still cannot. You should be grateful to know such care and patience! I have persuaded the council to leniency on your behalf many times, Zelda, but you are swiftly leaving me out of excuses! This is why I took you aside today; this is why I must be frank with you. _I_ keep covering for you to shield them from the fact you are _not_ yet ready! When Wisdom graces you, _then_ you can lead them in good faith. For the moment, I will teach and prepare you, but you must be content with the level of command that may leave you."

Matching his sour looks, her delicate features twisted into a dark frown and conviction was evident in her voice to spite him. "Then make the effort to do so instead of ignoring me as I trail forgotten at the back! You are _my_ shadow, I am not _yours_…!"

In no mood for such pleas or lectures—and wary of such talk from her in the first place—it was little wonder that, when again he spoke, it was a rather waspish snap she received. Gold stained eyes tore to catch hers and lock upon them, narrowed by the flash of temper as he rounded on her and took an imposing step forward.

"And what do you suppose having you actually attend court this morning _was_, then? Did I not _prepare_ you, getting rid of that ridiculous cape and guiding you through the proceedings so as not to disgrace yourself with inexperience? Did you not _learn_ how to conduct such meetings, and what is expected within them from a Queen? Would you rather waltz in, clueless and small, looking like a child who had brought their blanket in with them for comfort by draping it around their shoulders?"

Though she bristled slightly at the mention of the cape, Zelda's ire seemed to fade softly into sorrow as her frown left her and the ghost of mournfulness settled there instead. Quietly, she looked away from him, bare toes curling beneath her skirts. "…Or a girl waltzing in from a festival covered in grass and toffee stains? Or is it more like trying to get a daughter to put their shoes back on, instead of embarrassing herself in front of pleasant company?"

Taken aback by it as he was, the Regent drew back to stand straight with only a frustrated and surprised look, before tearing his gaze away evasively and clicking his tongue to refute such claims. Private though it was between them, both had grown to hate the comparisons to be made between the Regent and the late King.

"…No, Zelda…" He ground out slowly, knowing full well she had cornered him this time as he glared down at the sword. Even so, he endeavoured to save as much face as he could, despite her. "…Only a man desperate to marry you, and scrape together some semblance of contentment. Forgive me for being overprotective of the one precious thing that holds my life and sanity intact." It almost sounded sarcastic as he spat it harshly, but it was genuine nonetheless.

She couldn't know the irony of that, but Ganondorf no longer knew how to measure the truth of such a statement—privately, he spoke of his true intentions. Deeper, however, to match how she would take it, it reflected how attached to her he'd become.

The sentiment buried in such words was not lost on her, either, and the Princess softened further for it. A moment passed between them, terse and silent, as old memories lingered strong within the chamber—a chamber of their histories, truly. Still clutching the pendant as if her whole world was suspended within its fragile gem, daintily hung about her neck, Zelda's eyes closed to remember.

"On the morning after Talleday was murdered…" she began softly, her anger subdued, "…we made lanterns together and released them to the wind, honouring those we'd lost and a future that would be forged in their names. Do you remember?"

Gruff and somewhat dismissive—unhelpful to him as he knew that attitude may be—he scoffed quietly. Under the weight of the silence she left him, though, reluctantly he gave his glaring reply.

"Of course I do." He muttered then, a hateful scowl cast down toward the girl. "What of it?"

Tired eyes opened in a flash to capture his, locking with them and staring him down. "Then what did you say to me that day when we released them?" it tore the slightest flinch from him, put on the spot for information carelessly given at the time—Zelda watched gold-flecked eyes widen, the wheels spinning within his head, and held her ground unwaveringly. With a click of her tongue, she returned him with much the same cold expectancy he offered her of late, arching a brow. "Shall I remind you?"

_Damn her, that was years ago…! _He could've throttled her for such a thing, bordering on emotional blackmail as it was.

His mind searched for the words from that day; Ganondorf tore apart lie after lie, looking for the right one out of all that he had given. There were so many now, he could barely organise them anymore, plucking excuses and false reasoning from the very air and words around him as they were needed. Unblinkingly she stared, and though neither of them would relent, he chanced his way around it to feign memory instead.

With a distasteful grimace creasing lines either side of his mouth, he simply offered, "…That was a very emotional and busy day Zelda. We talked at length, and I would never forget the importance of what we shared… but to bring it up now is rather worrying. Your bitterness for your father might have been justified, but with the similarities you're drawing between him and I, now…" trailing off, lending her a suspicious squint, he hoped that might suffice.

But with the briefest flicker of hurt swimming in the blue of her eyes as they wavered upon him then, the Gerudo's throat grew dry—he had missed his mark, he knew. A rare miss, but one that would cost him, and he felt his heart double its pace for it as the Princess looked away with a light shake of her head.

"I don't wish for you to change, you said… You already possess all the qualities you shall ever need to…" Something scared him about the light sway of her golden tresses, the disappointed sorrow that lay muted upon the curve of her icy pink lips as she spoke, so quietly he scarcely heard her. "Regardless of what the council, or my father, may have thought and expected of an heir, you believed that if I submit to their way of thinking, I would sell my potential short…" her gaze was distant as it traced the holy outline of the blade below, and the Regent held his breath—he recalled those words all too clearly now.

By Gods, how crisp the memory seemed now that it had been uncovered so perfectly, word for word, pristine and untouched as it flowed from her mind… and there, Ganondorf found himself placed in a bewilderment, staring at the one who would worship him so as to repeat his words years later without error. She had sucked the very wind from his lungs with them, leaving him silent and humbled—it was no lie he had fed her then. Once upon a time, so easily, such a thing had been true.

The thick silver of his brows furrowed as he tasted an apology upon his tongue and swiftly swallowed it, the dry and salty taste reminding him how far they had extended themselves to keep this hand in play. Inclining his head slowly, he found the want to breathe again, sucking the air through his teeth and bringing a hand to rub the back of his neck considerately.

Cautiously, just as he felt the lightest flutter of guilt lining his stomach for her pains, the feeble ghost of his voice lingered at the back of his throat desperate to reveal why he had to drag her through this all. But the silver serpent that lay waiting behind his teeth offered its poison once again, striking too fast for him to stop it. Still, he would remain locked behind his façade… and if that was what was required of him, so be it. He would allow her no more reprieve than himself.

"…That is just as true now as it was then, Zelda, for the person that you are… but you cannot remain so unchanged that you view life through the eyes of the child I said that to. You do have all the qualities you need, and I do not wish for you to become different like your father… but I, and indeed your country, require that you _grow_. We are expanding on what you are, and the very best of who you will be. We simply need to do that sooner than I anticipated, and for that… I apologise, but I too have had to put away many things of myself in our struggles."

"I know you have, Sheik… But I am so very tired of it. Things will not stay this way for much longer, and I need you to be aware of that. I only ask that how we act now will not dictate the norm to come later, and we both have to re-evaluate how this will all balance out if we're to be married soon."

With a heavy sigh, Zelda took this all in with a grim countenance, somewhat defeated in their short battle—it was an emotional impasse reached in an argument that could only resolve itself with time. She could only pray these things were temporary setbacks to their happiness.

"I need you to _promise_ me. You swore to me once before, at my Father's funeral, that you would always be at my side and live for my sake… but if we are to marry, now, I need one more pledge. Please, Sheik, no matter what happens, don't ever let the crown—in any form—outweigh or turn aside your love for me or what we have together, just as I would never do that to you. Swear it upon this very sword; before the Gods as they look down on us in this moment, and will the line of fate to align to your word… as I do."

As the disguised Gerudo turned his head to peruse the reverent scene before them at her behest, tracing the outline of a blade that had once felled him, the Princess took note of the distant melancholy darkening his rough features with interest. Crystalline eyes glanced downward to the Sword as well, and she still found it surreal—understated, it almost didn't match her expectations to behold, and yet even she could feel the light hum of magic resonating from the tempered metal. She wasn't quite sure what to make of it, having almost expected the glow of it to blind and the aura it commanded to be so powerful, the faintest hairs upon the back of your neck would rise to it… though somehow, they found it a humble thing instead, quiet and controlled. It was a holy anomaly that seemed to empty all the space around it, yet did nothing to announce itself more than any other well-crafted weapon.

Even the wings of its guard were folded inward like a bird of prey at rest, apparently slumbering until it was called for the hunt once more, unlike the pictures she had seen of it scribed into books of old where they were splayed in full flight for the battle…

Ganondorf, too, took note of the folded hilt and the faded glow of the crystal laid into it—to his familiar eye, it was clear the mighty weapon had been weakened, much to the Gerudo's relief. Badon had been successful in his second task, it seemed. Certainly, it was refreshing to know that the brute could actually read. As he reflected upon the written instructions he had left to the new captain upon sending him on this sordid quest, alongside a carefully detailed map, he found himself impressed by Valenzuela's apparent capability.

The Kokiri were hard enough come by as things stood, having retreated far into the forests and nearing the very southernmost borders of the Kingdom… one of them stayed close to attend duty, however, and despite his doubts about the barrel-chested Badon, it seemed the Hunter's reputation held some water after all. Even with the aid of dark magic to fuel his abilities, it took quite a bit of skill, he conceded, to find and murder a sage.

Only upon that detail did he find the courage to pledge to her, calculating the odds in his head and weighing the harm in one more white lie to her, if not the very last. The Gods knew him far too well now to expect any less—he must've held their favour to get this far, as things were. They beckoned such deceit; another promise he simply couldn't keep… not in its entirety. He would always be fond of her. His life would seem hollow hereafter, were she not to be part of it. His days would be filled with sad and unsure patches where the vexatious Princess once resided; the memory of her scent flooding these cold and empty halls and every piece of gold tarnished forever as he compared them to the lustre of her hair.

She may well stand on equal footing with his old desires, now… but he knew, deep down, that even she would never truly be above them.

No more than a whisper, perhaps the humblest words to ever leave him, he prayed he would never be forced to break it by fate forcing him to choose. "…That promise was set in motion the day you entered the world, Zelda. Nothing will ever be more important to me than you. You know that… It is you and I against the world."

With the comfort of those words, the Princess' smile returned, her fingers seeking to caress the pendant once again—his gift to her. A symbol of their love, which would endure the very worst this world had to offer. It simply had to for the secret she held from him… but she would hold it just a bit longer still, until they could be alone with nothing to distract them.

The timing was surprising, but she could only hope they would be safe with the Master Sword here to protect them, and a Hero stirring to its call from afar. She could hide her surreptitious wonder for a while yet, until she was sure of it… So far, all the nuances and natural happenings of a woman's body had been gleaned to her from the dusty pages of vague and overly polite books. It was ironic perhaps, that from the scared and unsure girl that had suspected poison upon the first day of her womanhood, she had since become attentive and familiar enough with her function to recognise the earliest signs of pregnancy.

Nobody would question it when the time came that it was both confirmed and finally revealed, cemented by the marriage to hide otherwise ill-fitting circumstance, followed by what would be easily passed off as a premature birth from the mother's young age.

"…My father was a brilliant King, and in that way your ability to match him is nothing short of wonderful… but it came at the cost of a father. I refuse lose my husband to such a thing as well, Sheik. That is why I need these things to change, if it truly _is_ us against the world."

…_Not only for my sake, but for the child who will need the father I never had, _her mind echoed quietly, her smile wavering some for the thought—_There is so much more at stake now to worry for, than just you and I… I can't have you shoulder every burden of mine, so that you miss your own child's life unfold while you manage a Kingdom. We must share the duty, so that we both can be present enough, when they enter the world we'll have saved for them._

Silence reigned for a few minutes, peaceful and still all around them as if to console such thoughts. Danger seemed so far away from her in that moment, as if it were all no more than a nightmare that had dissipated upon waking. Standing within the presence of the Holy Sword, the shadows looming on the horizon were lost to the comforting shroud of hope to blind her to them, blocking them out and lending respite from the worry.

Distracted by the calm grace it quietly commanded, Zelda found herself whispering with a dreamy though thoughtful blink, content to leave her worries be for the moment. "It must have been quite a long time now, since last you laid eyes upon the legendary Bane of Evil…" she offered softly, curious of the potential nostalgia it might stir in her fiancé for the odd expressions he wore.

In the dim flicker of shadow the torchlight cast, Ganondorf found a hint of humour in that. A rueful chuckle murmured in the back of his throat as his head nodded forward, gold stained eyes closing to the twisted and bittersweet comfort gained by the sight of it all. Perhaps a half truth would suffice, silently grateful for the opportunity to express his genuine reaction in some form for her unwavering trust.

"No amount of time I go without seeing it could seem quite long enough, Zelda… in this very instant as it graces my eye once again, it is as if no time has passed at all. But that is not something I celebrate. Honestly, I quite despise that feeling..."

Delicate brows furrowed toward him as he turned from her then, slow—almost reluctant—strides guiding him down stone steps and away from her side. Compelled by habit to follow, Zelda stared after him a moment, confusion playing subtly upon her features as she too moved to join him in the descent.

"But is it not a good thing? You are the one who proposed it be moved in the first place, Sheik, and even with my worry for it, you persuaded me to such precaution... You make it sound as if it is regrettable; this should be a triumph, and a great mark upon history! We've taken fate by its horns and steered it to our benefit! How could you possibly not wish to celebrate that?" her voice resounded about the small chamber more harshly than his did, almost making her wince for the echo returned to them.

"There is no comfort for me to find in the salvation of such a Blade as that one... it is the harbinger of an ancient war reborn, after all." he mused, hiding his aversion to it as best he could and lending false justification to what did show through.

Undeterred and trying desperately to cheer him from his sudden morose, the Princess caught up enough to match his strides, reaching to gently brush his hand with warmth. "…A war that we will win. Don't you go and lose your nerve now that we're this far... If I am not allowed to falter, then don't think I'll let your anxieties flare up either."

She sent him a small smile, a reassuring thing, and much to Zelda's private joy she gained a glance from him as her fingers curled about his. "I know I've had my doubts, and I may not always be happy about what we must do in the meantime... but I know whatever must happen for us to prevail is the right thing. There's no need for you to feel as if you've made the wrong decision, or take to heart that we've been blasphemous..."

With a light shake of his head, the disguised Gerudo sighed, a busy day and a lack of sleep playing upon his weary mind. "On the contrary, Zelda... I wouldn't have set about this task if I didn't trust that it was the best thing. I'm only sorry for the tensions it seems to have wrought between us of late." he returned soothingly, taking a moment to squeeze her hand lightly as if to remind her that, no matter their difficulties, she still held his affection.

"As am I, Sheik… We've not had it easy, that's very true. But we have to trust that things will smooth themselves out now, and make efforts to help it all along." She returned him gently, regaining some of her former grace as she moved beside him.

As the two of them came to pass the lowest step, a slim bridge of stone between them and the last few steps upwards to the pedestal, the pair came to pause there. To the side of them, calm water presenting their pristine reflections, pensive glances turned to view them. Ganondorf made the effort then to soften himself further with a cynical and fleeting smirk.

"The truth of it is, my Sweet, that this sword will always inspire regret within me... dragging out the memory of a time and experience I would rather never recall, given the choice. The branded symbol of an era that brought far more suffering than gain, and though having it here is certainly a boon to us... it is also to be a burden. Bittersweet, I suppose... But I wouldn't expect you to truly understand that, bereft of the memories yourself. The shroud of glory often draped upon the past may seem enchanting, but for me it is a... somewhat painful and grief inspiring memento in what it whispers of the past... and of things to come."

_Things that __**cannot**__ be allowed to unfold this time around, _he amended internally, grimacing as glanced down at his reflection—on he barely recognised as himself, and yet, the image of a Sheikah staring back at him seemed more familiar now than the Gerudo. Thick brows furrowed at the image, and he noted the crimson gaze flecked with fiery gold, wondering how long it had been there; slimly hidden slivers of his true self as they were.

Unlike the paranoid panic that should've crawled down his spine at the sight however, he found only a strange sense of consolation. Surely, his ward had seen them, yet she was clearly unperturbed by the odd hue. Such a thought bode well with him.

_Soon..._ a maddened voice at the back of his mind whispered it so sweetly, the ghost of his smile returned.

"Whatever it whispers of the past," tilting her head to smile at him through their reflections, the image of her peaceful and quiet upon the water's edge, Zelda's crystalline eyes seemed to steal their colour from the liquid itself. "You should take comfort in what it would say of our future. This is what we've worked for, after all. This is the first mark of true progress…" she mused comfortingly, smiling softly as she did.

Echoing the words that had left Link not an hour beforehand, never knowing the eerie chill such coincidence could bring her, Zelda let the very last of her fears begin to slip while in the comfort of the man she loved—the man she may have conceived a child with.

"We're on the right path."

"Right you are, Zelda." it came sudden, foreign as it bounced around the chamber from the entrance, a chipper tone far louder than the footsteps they had not heard. "Though I must say, the beauty of this sword far pales in comparison to the joy I feel for seeing you smiling that way again.".

As the royals turned to the sound of it—Zelda caught by surprise to brighten in the dull light, and the disguised Gerudo casting a wary frown the scholar's way for being disturbed—both caught sight of the wiry intellectual standing at the foot of the first set of stairs. Garbed in harlequin socks and neat purple attire, bow-tied with a book under his arm and a dagger held neatly within its pages, Sir Shadrian stood adjusting rounded glasses. As he peered down toward the couple with a fond gleam to his eye, a small chuckle slipped past an agreeable smile and, unbothered by the silence that greeted him, the old man tilted his head.

"I do hope I'm not disturbing anything, but you see… I simply _couldn't_ resist. Old habits, and what not... I'm no Hero, but I assure you, that blade calls to me all the same."

The Princess seemed to melt into a giggle, charmed by the one member of court she would ever truly admire, and waved a satin gloved hand to welcome him further as she sent her smile his way instead. "No, not at all, Shad... I'm glad you're here." almost excitable at the sight of him, she changed immediately to sweet and naïve seeming mirth, though as near as her fiancé could tell, it was exaggerated somewhat; put on for show so that Sir Shadrian would not catch onto her worries. "Come, join us! The view is spectacular."

Ganondorf, however, continued to hold his sudden reticence, a lazy glare following the scholar's every move as arms crossed defensive over his broad chest once more. He made no move to be as welcoming as his ward, though oddly, it seemed nobody noticed such stifled hostility.

_How long have you been standing there, you sly old fool? _Somewhere in the back of his mind, a slim and unforeseen respect for the man bloomed—the silent approach and apparent eavesdropping betrayed some skill that the Thief could appreciate, and he suddenly wondered how well used that dagger was. Even so, the intrusion was far too hasty for his liking, and though such ability to evade his notice was indeed noteworthy, it was a rather worrying thing when accounting for Sir Shadrian's interest in—and sway over—the Princess.

Silently cursing Themis, the supposed Sheikah cocked his head upward in a sign of belligerent acknowledgement as the scholar moved to descend. His grimace seemed to grow more evident with every step the man took.

Even as he made his way down, the enthused bounce in Shad's steps were somehow muted against the stone, a quick succession of bobbing carrying the scholar to Zelda's side as beckoned. He would only stop when he contrasted the dark Sheikah on the other with his light and happy nature. A dutiful nod given, Shadrian placed a proud hand upon Zelda's shoulder—a gesture which saw the Gerudo bite his tongue as a jealous and possessive fire leapt to life in his stomach—before turning a bespectacled gaze toward the holy Sword in respect and awe of its presence.

Silence reigned once again, as the Royals soon followed the scholar's gaze, all attention drawn to the consuming and yet somehow understated weapon in their midst. A thousand words unsaid drifted in the still air as the trio of reflections lay splayed upon on the water, and an audibly content exhale left the elder in reverence.

Softening to match the atmosphere, as if the sight sucked all the volume from his optimistic voice, Shad was the first to gently break it, his hand squeezing the girl's shoulder fondly. "...Your father would have loved to see this, Zelda. Wherever his spirit rests, I should think it would be smiling down upon you."

His glance would shift behind his glasses toward her profile, before Zelda's own smile drifted towards him in turn, and the close friendship seemed all too evident to the Gerudo beside them—a tender, private thing of which he held no part. A connection Zelda had forged in secrecy with another and held to dearly. A voice other than his own to which she listened... and a loop from which he had been carefully excluded.

Refusing to witness the looks they shared, he scowled ahead at the sword, golden eyes flaring bright with silent fury as bandaged fingers tightened to grip large biceps. Not all of the council was in his palm—Dotour at the very least had the decency to leave him to his own, taking no more part in things and resigning himself to watching as it all unfolded. Sir Shadrian, he reminded himself, was an ever present free radical, just as protected by Zelda's favour as he had once been.

_Seeding the antidotes to my poisons where he can, no doubt; _the very thought left Ganondorf livid, a sneer creeping across his features unseen by the pair. Perhaps he had overlooked the details lending to Zelda's odd behaviours recently—she had ingratiated herself with the Royal orchestra, making use of her Father's baton to conduct, and he had allowed this. A steadying hobby he thought may temper her moods and calm her with some short respite from what duties she did act upon; harmless enough. But with a narrow lidded side glance cast toward Sir Shadrian, as the Gerudo heard Zelda whisper humble thanks to his comment, he recalled dangerously that the scholar was also a part of that orchestra, or at least, what remained of it.

_Not to mention a close friend of her father's, since youth..._

The amount of time the Princess spent with the scholar of late had risen dramatically, and it coincided almost perfectly with her rebellious attitude, seemingly cropping up out of nowhere to blind-side him... Realistically, Ganondorf knew little of Shadrian's opinions of him, or how much Zelda might have confided in him about what he had otherwise expected to be entirely private affairs. Secrets which when shared, he knew, would paint a very different picture of the 'Sheikah' to any who might hear them. He did not know the scholar well enough to guess at his reactions or approval, or even what kind of advice the man might give to console and aid his wayward Princess.

Perhaps the source of his trouble lay with one last loose end the Gerudo had as yet ignored to tie.

And at that bitter and disquieting realisation, a decisive squint would narrow golden eyes further, glare burning a harsh and distant reflection within the sheen of the holy blade.

_Well, let's just see how useful the skinny bastard can be to a King, instead of a girl, over the coming months._

Clearing his throat to interrupt the little exchange, the Regent's attitude shifted to a more amicable one, resentment hidden as he schooled his rough features into a more diplomatic expression and inclined his head to address the scholar. "In any case, it is good to see Themis' reluctance in summoning you didn't hold you away too long." he lied, twisting the truth advantageously as he forced a chuckle. "I was beginning to worry you had gotten lost in your excitement."

Attention drifting to the Regent with a blink, Shad took thin fingers to the rim of his glasses, adjusting them studiously as Zelda smiled still between them. He looked amused at that, but conceded with a nod. "Indeed, I dare say I was very nearly tripping over myself when I received the news. Poor old Themis ran across me in the hall, rushing like a madman as I was. Why, I almost bowled him over in passing, but he did indeed call after me to say you'd be expecting me."

As the Princess stifled another giggle, simply torn from her as they were when in Shad's presence, Ganondorf found it exceptionally difficult to feign humour for the inconvenience of it all. _That explains the prompt arrival, then... _the Gerudo hissed internally, damning the gossiping nobility for their lack of anything better to do. Still, fighting to keep his brow from knitting into the scowl it so wanted to be, he inclined his head with a thoughtful click of his tongue.

"Your enthusiasm is not unwarranted... this is certainly an acquisition to be glad for." he offered curtly, biting the inside of his cheek as Zelda's crystalline gaze flickered his way with empathy, knowing now how the sight also burdened him. Drawing a slow breath he continued, returning attention to the elder.

"But I would hope it doesn't cloud your appraisal. I can confirm it to be the genuine blade, but I am curious as to your thoughts on the matter, Sir Shadrian..." the upward twitch of his brow signalled something of a challenge, subtle and superior as golden eyes were set toward the sword once more, arms still neatly folded upon his chest. "...After all, your love of history and study of ancient lore is a refreshing thing to stumble upon, in this day and age. How does it feel to lay eyes on the real thing, instead of some dusty old illustration?"

If it came off in a tone that reflected in anyway the rather haughty thought that, while Shadrian's studies were admirable, the Gerudo had not only witnessed but actively created much of the history he so feverishly pondered, no reaction to it could be gleaned from the scholar's wrinkled features. Zelda's attention sharpened upon her fiance's features for a moment, the hint of jealous superiority caught by her pointed ears, but Ganondorf rather flatly ignored it. She knew well enough by now that, in terms of who among them was better versed in Hyrule's past, Shadrian's books did not hold a candle to the supposed Sheikah's first-hand experiences.

But as the wiry scholar regarded this question, looking over the legendary blade with a squint as he held one rim of his spectacles, the quiet awe so evident upon wrinkled features began to fade, swiftly replaced by the furrowing of his brow. "...Rather troubling, actually." he mused unexpectedly, seemingly distracted by the last steps as he glanced down quickly to ponder them, sizing up the gap still left between himself and the sword. "Just a moment..." he offered suddenly, and much to the Princess' surprise, the sprightly man gave an agile, if not slightly unbalanced, series of bounds upward to land unsteadily upon the stone waiting on the other side.

A tug to straighten his clothes was the only delay the scholar gave in which Ganondorf could regret his subtle jibe, though judging by the determined and fascinated strides to aid Shadrian's scrutiny of the weapon, holding his tongue would not have averted it. Zelda stood wide eyed beside him, surprised by her old tutor's lack of formality—approaching the holiest artefact the scholar was likely to ever behold so casually, without any blessing as yet to do so—and the look of horror that flashed across the Gerudo's face seemed to match hers perfectly; brought about for different reasons though it might be.

He knew already what the old fool worried for, bent over and peering closely at the hilt as he was—Ganondorf could almost feel the bile rising in his throat for such expectancy, tension thickening in the air around him as he swallowed. The Princess had not noticed any anomaly thus far, bereft of wisdom to aid her in such discovery, but the Regent knew her unrest would be palpable when the scholar spoke next. Settling her from this was not going to be easy, and Gods help him if she decided to seek out a sage for guidance on the matter.

Steeling himself with a pre-emptive wince twisting his mouth, the Gerudo could do little more then silently curse Sir Shadrian's obsessive attention to detail, hoping he would not connect the condition to the cause. Spurred to follow the scholar with hasty steps upward, even the subtle and weakened aura was still present enough to his senses—the very air around him threatened thick skin with burning sensations, the static tingle evolving into fierce heat, and all too quickly the nauseating tug at his darkened soul beckoned he halt his approach. The Regent visibly slowed the closer he became, but struggling through it, pained, Ganondorf found desperation enough to endure, daring to stand no farther than five feet from the legendary blade.

Forced to realise his fortune then, the supposed Sheikah knew well that, had Badon failed in his second task, his rouse would not have withstood the force of such a divine weapon's wrath. Had the sage's prayer not ceased, and their blood not been spilled at his behest, he was now certain that this chamber would've stood as a sanctuary from his presence.

It was by sheer luck he could stand here, now, almost at arm's length from that which would destroy him.

Zelda was left behind again quickly as for a moment, with a surprised blink, she simply stared after the two men as they moved closer to the sword. Of their own accord, her bare feet, too, would defy the reverent respect for that blade to follow them, rising to the top of the steps in time to see her fiance's hand rise toward Sir Shadrian in a stilted, desperate and hesitant manner that confused her to see of him.

"Get back!" the Regent beckoned, rumbling from his chest with sudden force enough one might imagine the chamber to quiver around him. Thick brows knitted into a fearsome scowl, a snarl bearing sharp canines and the barest hint of malice, restrained, as his voice tore the scholar's gaze from a sword to a king. "If you tarnish that blade with your feeble spirit," he lied, twisting the matter into a noble one, "I will not hesitate but to execute you for such a crime myself!"

A bemused expression painted wrinkled features as Shadrian peered back at him over his shoulder, slowly rising to his full height again and bearing a furrowed brow over his spectacles. Behind the Regent, the Princess gave a shocked and silent gasp for such a threat, indignant as wide eyes settled on the back of him.

"Sheik! What has gotten into you—?" She managed, horrified by the prospect of him using his skills in the art of death against her old friend. Even so, a part of her understood his protectiveness—were anything to go wrong now, and corrupt the sword's strength or the Hero's path to it, their fates may well be sealed. Crystalline eyes wavered between the men and she found her voice grow small beside them.

Something was wrong, and somehow, Zelda felt it had little to do with Shad's proximity to the sword.

She caught the wisened glance of her tutor, and the look in his eye cemented it further. The jovial shine, the wonder and awe, were gone and replaced with something altogether more stern. Only a moment did she have to study it, unnerved by such change in him, before the scholar's attention returned to stare at the Sheikah with harsh scrutiny.

Lowering his tone, it came quiet and grave, and over the tops of his glasses, Shadrian offered the Regent a calm—if not suddenly distant—response. "…For one who has lived long enough, so Zelda assures me, to have witnessed this sword in its full glory…" inclining his head upwards, a stoic sense of determination seemed to take him over, volume rising as if he knew the importance of having Zelda hear it. "…It would be a terrible worry if you had not recognised it to be tarnished _already._ I assure you, I never had any intent to touch it, but even so, I won't be blamed for its condition."

With a final squint, Shadrian found the gold stained crimson of his eyes and locked with them, unwavering, as he watched Zelda's face fall in the corner of his vision. "I daresay you already knew this blade was weakened before you sent men to collect it, am I correct? I wonder, Sheik, would Badon and his surly crew even been able to retrieve it at all, were that not the case?"

"...W…Weakened…?" the whisper slipped past the Princess' lips with disbelief, golden tresses swaying lightly as her head began to shake, betraying her denial. A hollow laugh left her, and looking to her husband to be, satin gloved hands shifted again to toy with her necklace. "No, that couldn't be right… It… is simply at rest, waiting for the Hero…?" She traced the outline of his form for any hint, any small sign that she might take comfort in from this notion, but when the girl received nothing, she looked instead to Shadrian, desperate.

The scholar's expression was a sorrowful one, sympathetic and apologetic, tailored to her in that moment. He knew, from the moment he'd realised something was amiss, that Zelda would be unaware of it… what pained him most was the question of why the Regent had seen fit not to tell her. It only worried him further that the Sheikah seemed not only reticent, but outright dishonest, hinting that he would feign ignorance if not called out on such a thing to explain.

Gritting his teeth, Ganondorf knew he'd been backed into a corner here. The old fool had indeed noticed, all too quickly, the dire state of the weapon. But still, the scholar had left him room to manoeuvre around even this, and privately, the Gerudo found his want for use in Shadrian satisfied immediately. The anger left him, rough features trained into something of resignation, of a protector who had shielded his ward from a harsh reality once again, and a slow sigh breezed from his nose.

Closing his eyes, he allowed his head to incline, a defeated tone laced into his words for good measure. "I'm afraid he's correct, Zelda. On all counts… the Master Sword has indeed lost much of its power. This is one of the reasons it was to be moved here."

Gold stained eyes opened to trace the patterns beneath his boots, echoing guilt from the memory of when he had felt it before.

"I did not wish to worry you with such knowledge, but it was as much to secure its safety as ours... here, it is beyond Evil's reach. In such a state as it is, I did not wish to leave it in the open to be tampered with." flicking the scholar a brief glare, turning it around on him, he continued, "It's edges may be dulled, but the power to repel evil still hums faintly within it. I can sense that much… and that being the case, once it sees a Hero's hand, it can be restored. It is but one of many duties the legends speak of… reforging and renewing the blade, so it may remain at its peak, tempered by his spirit. Sir Shadrian, of all people, should be able to attest to such a fact."

Bare feet padded closer, still holding onto the gem, and Zelda drew close enough to see her Regent's face, still searching for reassurance. Doubt and fear shimmered in her eyes for the shock of such a thing, and how careless he'd been to keep such important details from her, but upon the delicate curves of her face lay the faint relief the Gerudo had sought to instil. For all their troubles, her loyalty and trust remained unbroken, and that fact eased a ghosted smile onto his face as he looked upon her.

Gold stained eyes would toss an expectant glare toward the wiry scholar then, silently urging his compliance—if nothing else, his affections for Zelda would surely douse his suspicions for the moment, if he held them. Ganondorf could already see the wrinkles softening to appease the girl and lend credit to what he'd offered in explanation.

Such a warning was quietly fierce, but perfectly understood, and though the old scholar still questioned the reasoning behind such reticence where Zelda was concerned, he could appreciate the fragile state the girl had been in since her Father's murder. Wary of it, and compassionate in his dealing with her, Shad did not wish to insult her by questioning her fiancé's motives for secrecy…

At least, not just at this moment, delicate as the situation seemed to be.

Adjusting his glasses, hesitantly taking one finger to slide them up the bridge of his nose, Shadrian relented for now with a humble nod. "Indeed, Zelda, he is right in that… Why, in the earliest accounts concerning Demise, the Hero who challenged the Demon King tempered his blade in three holy fires in order to ready it for the conflict. Even the Hero of Time himself gathered a token of spiritual power from each of the Holy Sages… If the sword's power has waned over time, then it is only natural that this Hero also imbues it with sacred power in turn."

But privately, whether Sheik claimed to shelter the girl from worry or not, Sir Shadrian resolved to keep a closer eye on her former attendant in that moment. He was correct; the blade could indeed be brightened to its glory once more when a Hero claimed it, but that required faith and patience that this castle was swiftly running short of and unfortunately, that was something that simply could not be helped.

Unrest though it might cause in Zelda, it was also something that a future Queen needed to be aware of, regardless. Such was his duty to her, that she be prepared and able to command a Kingdom—it was Sir Shadrian's duty as much as it was Sheik's, and should the Regent seem to withhold anything to stifle her, be it in good intention or not, the scholar would make sure it came to her attention despite him.

_Their affections for one another may well be clouding better judgement, in this case, _Shadrian conceded mentally, glancing between them with consideration, _even the Great Lady Impa never let her care impede her duty…Such is the creed of the Sheikah, after all, but it does all seem a trifle odd. Perhaps this very problem is part and parcel of Sheikah men taking guardianship. Yes, indeed, that does seem to be the case, given each time one has appeared to an heir in the past, they were married also…_

And with painful clarity, it hit him, holding his tome a little tighter to his side for it. _Ah, of course, I should have seen it before! My word, yes… He came to us a guardian, to be sure… but now he has become something different; will be a husband, and a King. Surely, he would serve her just the same, but now… he simply cannot do so with the same objective necessity. How could he? But such is his role, I should suppose. Then that leaves me no other option. I must take up the role he no longer fills… at least as far as I can, and assure that Zelda is granted advisory without such bias._

_Even if it pains her… Like the Holy Blade, her spirit must be tempered in order to be strong, by many fires. _She had known her Father, and learned from Sheik. It was high time he resumed his place as one of her teachers, as well.

"That said, mind you," the scholar would turn to the Sheikah once more, eyeing him with a warning of his own, "Whether or not that is something we can influence, and I'll admit, it certainly isn't… these matters are not of the kind to be kept to oneself, Sheik. I must ask, and excuse me for it if it should upset things, but when would you have made Zelda aware of this, if not for my doing so just now?"

A brow was raised ever so slightly, genuine concern and curiosity burning in his question, and the disguised Gerudo saw the danger in it. Given everything he and his ward had spoken of today, such a thing was not a welcome sound to his paranoid ear. Bandaged fingers twitched at his sides, and with a glance he took stock of the girl beside him, looking lost and distant as a whirlwind no doubt raged behind crystalline irises. How he wished he could've seen such thoughts, but unable to decipher her any more than was typical between a man and woman, he settled on a rare truth.

Clicking his tongue as Zelda studied him, watching carefully as her pointed ears twitched with anticipation of his answer, Ganondorf offered Shadrian not a glare, but a small smirk instead. "When she wished to hear it, Sir Shadrian… Had she not asked, I may never have said a word. Whether or not she found out was something that seemed of little concern to me, given she can do nothing to rectify the matter. It is out of her hands… and out of ours as well, as you've noted. Her focus is better saved for things she can influence, wouldn't you agree?"

"No, I'm afraid I don't, in point of fact." The scholar offered flatly, brows rising some over a heavy blink. "She is the Bearer of Wisdom. It is her destiny to perceive things we cannot, and I daresay that to avoid bringing to her attention _any_ detail of this country's affairs is to be negligent in our duty to her. Where we may see no solution, she may well surprise the lot of us. Indeed, it is her job to, if I am to be quite frank..."

At that, the smirk lingering on the corner of the Regent's lips quickly faded, drawn thin into a displeased grimace—In many ways, the scholar was the very polar opposite of Talleday and yet, somewhere at the very core of it all, the Gerudo was sure he saw the same spirit. The unfaltering resolve to see what needed to be done occurred, and to ensure the very best was done where the Princess was concerned. The loyal and naïve ideal that they could protect the crown from decay, opposing him even as he tried to twist things to his liking.

It was troubling as it was intriguing, but Ganondorf knew better than to simply slit another throat. He had underestimated the scholar, it seemed, but that was quickly changing… he had not missed Shadrian's mention of Demise, either. There was information locked up in that wiry bastard's brain that could benefit him, as yet; the last link of a long line of historians that held in their private archives the secrets to not only his, but Zelda's history… and that of the boy. If there were connections to made, lifelines to ancient and forgotten powers owed to him still, then Shadrian was the best bet at finding them. Until Power returned to his hand at full, he needed every advantage he could get.

_Very well… I'll indulge him a while._

Zelda, however, wore a soft smile upon her tired features, brightening them some as her admiration for her old tutor was vindicated. "Shad…" she whispered, more to herself, but the tone was glad of his presence. She knew she had missed him earlier, and this was precisely why. Of all the people she feared disappointing most, the scholar fell in right behind the Sages and the Sheikah beside her.

He would likely never know how grateful she truly was for the belief he held in her, and the support he offered, simply because he could. Even so, she stood torn. She'd had this argument with Sheik a few times, and yes, she did tire of it now—of course, Shadrian was right, and she thanked him for voicing such a thing, if only to second her feelings on the matter. But she knew also that Sheik did these things out of mercy and care, and no matter how she may protest, at the end of it, his protectiveness only proved his love further.

She knew the strange tug in her belly was the strange sensations of restrained despair, threatening to crush her illusions of security, and suddenly she mourned that feeling from before. Danger had seemed so far from her, not minutes ago, and now—thanks to Shad—that comfort had been shattered ruthlessly to let the winds of uncertainty slowly lash her hopes, eroding them away bit by bit.

True, it was what she had demanded, not moment before Shad arrived… but now that she had it, Zelda realised she didn't care for such honesty when it came from those around her.

She wanted to hear it from _Sheik_, or not at all. His honesty—or lack thereof—was what bothered her the most, and how far he was willing to involve her, acknowledging the woman she'd become and the equal he was supposed to see in her.

When Shadrian spoke such things instead, she felt he had stolen the opportunity, cheapening it with a thief's tongue and denying herself and her lover the chance to mend their issues and grow together.

The Princess was grateful to him… and yet, Zelda knew, selfishly, that she was spiteful of it also.

Gently, mutely, she would not have another argument here tonight, regardless of how warranted it may seem to the men with her, and for both of them she would shake her head. Satin gloved hands folded simply in front of her, as if to begin prayer, and crystalline eyes would close with some semblance of self forged peace.

"You are both very good to me, each for different reasons… and I'm thankful for that. You're right, Shad, I have a right to know the affairs of my country in full. But like Sheik said, if I wish to know anything, I need only ask and he would tell me. These are things I must learn to notice for myself, and address accordingly. That's _my_ duty to Hyrule, as her Queen." A soft smile took her lips, and the Princess offered a fond glance to each of them before turning back to the Holy Blade.

"There's a Hero out there right now, and when the time comes, he'll take up this sword and everything will fall into place. We're doing what we can, but without him… some things just have to wait. I can't bring strength back to the Master Sword, but I can strengthen the people's resolve. I'm at peace with that. If Sheik never ended up telling me, Shad, it's because that information is useless in my hands. He'd pass it on to the Hero who needed to hear it instead."

Shifting to bring his leather bound book before him, holding it to his chest as if restraining something from tumbling out of it, Shadrian would regard the small Sovereign with furrowed brows. He pleaded gently with her, coaxingly, as if she had missed something very important in all of this.

"I have no doubt of that, Zelda, but you see, my dear, that is not _his_ place. It is _yours_. You are the Bearer of Wisdom, and it is that Wisdom which guides the Hero on his journey. Without Wisdom to light the way, Courage would simply barrel on ahead and be lost within the dark thicket awaiting them, swallowed up by the shadows. That is how the legends of old are written, and how they must unfold again…"

He would chance a step toward her, inclining his head with all the concern of a grandfather discovering a nasty bruise, kindly eyes appraising the girl as if to discern the cause of such injury. "Preparing for the throne is but one of the things you are destined for, Zelda. There are many more burdens to be shouldered than just that; my word, if only things were so simple… I know Wisdom's Blessing may not be upon you yet, but that does not mean you inherit nothing of it now. My dear, surely you've felt the pulse of it leading you…? Can you not sense Courage flaring for yourself, or is it merely the word of a Sage that lends you such confidence?"

His words drifted out into the hollow chamber and filled it with something stark and foreboding, echoing gravely before silence returned to them. Upon the Princess' face, a myriad of things began to shift her delicate features, betraying the nerve he had struck—inside, she denied her ignorance of such sensation, automatically assuming her knowledge of it to be personal. But as the seconds ticked by, her gaze began to fall, brows knitting to suggest she couldn't be sure of that at all.

_Of course I have felt him... Haven't I...?_

But the Regent had heard quite enough of that, turning a concerned gaze upon her in turn. Ganondorf did not like the expressions Zelda wore, and flashing a glare back toward the scholar, his eyes revealed a dangerously unabated gold.

He snarled at him, and in the bite of his canines drew a small flinch from the elderly man when backed by the weight of his scowl. "Do you not think she has enough worries for one day, Sir Shadrian? Or perhaps you'd much rather see her mind undone with doubt and scrutiny?" he spat it low, bandaged fingers curling into fists by his sides. "No more of this. You've made both the dire state of our affairs and your concerns for her competence quite clear, _Scholar._"

Shadrian straightened then, taken aback by such defensiveness as his spectacles slipped down his nose—he was almost sure of it now, as the malice flared upon the Regent's worn features, that something about Shiek's agenda had gone drastically amiss. The man was known to be abrasive when challenged, to be sure, but it always seemed he acted with the greater good in mind, careful in his care for the Princess' well being...

_But perhaps... even a Sheikah can grow __**too**__ comfortable on the throne, _his mind offered then with worry, and the scholar felt he had his answer.

Before he could address it though, the harsh echo of footfalls could be heard thundering toward them from above, turning a bespectacled gaze toward the stairs. The royals were quick to follow, as all ears in company were accosted by a loud shout of urgency echoing down before whoever approached.

"Sire!" came the call, out of breath and unused to running at such a pace, before the panicked form of Themis' boots could be glimpsed. The man came to a halt, his cheeks red with the effort as a shaking hand sought the brick beside him once he'd reached the last step.

Even as his ward and her precious scholar stared up with bemusement and surprise, the irritation seemed to take leave of the Regent's features, bringing with the councilman's appearance a small sense of relief that let a smirk tug at the corner of his mouth.

_Well, it's about time, _he thought cruelly, knowing already what news had been brought to his eager ear.

"Themis. I trust this is important?" he offered then, feigning some ignorance as his rich voice carried smooth over the small distance of the sparse chamber.

Swiping chubby fingertips through his oaken hair, the man gave the reply the Gerudo had been waiting for.

"Indeed, Sire, it is Badon... He has returned..." he panted quickly, fearful eyes hollow and greyed as they swept those below. Swallowing against a dry throat, Themis looked to the Princess and the Sword, and though he tried to hide it, it was obvious that the man was shaken. "H-he claims the guard who was posted at the boy's cell took to the ranch with arson, Sire, after finding out that his sister had granted him refuge there. The blaze caught the attention of the men left with him and as they went to investigate, Badon found the traitor was indeed hiding in his own home and engaged him... but it seems he has fled once more."

Zelda's ears perked to that as her visage was stolen with concern, a hand drifting to her chest as crystalline eyes widened. "Arson? You mean to say a fire has broken out in the fields?" she blinked once, unable to fully process everything that seemed to be happening around her at once, and stepping forward to shout, she frowned. "What are you waiting for, Themis? Send men to contain it! With the winds tonight, that blaze could easily take hold of the southern villages!"

"I already have, your Highness, though our numbers aren't what they were. Ordon is under the greatest threat, by what Badon has told us, though scouts will soon give a clearer picture." the man offered breathlessly, turning a nod toward the scholar behind her. "Sir Shadrian, your presence will be needed immediately to convene on appropriate measures, as well."

Reluctant to be drawn away from his growing suspicions of the Sheikah, though unable to prioritise them above the loss of lives, wiry fingers would take to correcting his glasses in hesitation. He would simply have to leave further scrutiny of the Regent's intentions for a less pressing time.

"Very well, Themis, I'll be along directly." he sighed slowly, before moving to step between the royals and ascend the stairs once more, keen to follow his fellow councilman.

Even as Themis turned to take his leave with the scholar in tow, the Regent's voice would halt him as he bit back on a sinister smile. "Is there any good news to be had, Themis, or should I take the Princess to retire for a well deserved rest?" lifting a brow, he ignored the affronted look Zelda gave in the corner of his vision, and met the stern—almost accusatory—glances from both members of the Privvy council.

"...No, Sire, I don't believe so." Themis offered stiffly over his shoulder, as Shadrian slowly overtook him on the steps, mournful boot falls ringing out with a sense of pathos. "But it would seem Badon has captured Malinna Lonell in place of her brother, with the intention of questioning and punishment."

"Excellent."


End file.
